


Under-Covers

by mudkipwrites



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alexsandr Kallus is Bad at Feelings, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Art by Sempaiko, Couples Massage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Ficlets Gone Wild, Garazeb Orrelios is Sexy As Hell, Healing Sex, Implied Past Trauma/ Harm, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Nude Beach, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance Trope Silliness, Romantic Comedy, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, Vacation, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: Alexsandr Kallus is assigned to go undercover at an exotic couples resort. Too bad he's hopeless at romance--and hopelessly in love with his "fake" mission partner, Garazeb Orrelios.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 188
Kudos: 292
Collections: Kalluzeb appreciation week 2020., The Gay Awakens





	1. Art by Sempaiko

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sempaiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempaiko/gifts).



> What is it about the "Undercover" prompt for KAW that is so SPICY?! Anyways, it was a whole lot of fun to work on this trope-rich fic. This one's crafted in honor of @Sempaiko: a fast-working genius and sauce-inspiring artist. Semp, I hold you accountable not only for many mouthwatering Kalluzeb illustrations, but also, for adding a whole-new swearword into my vocabulary.! Check out Semp's work, ya'll. Okay: fic time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check out Semp's other artwork at their tumblr! (https://sempaiko.tumblr.com/). She gave me the okay to post this here - remember to always check with artists for permission before posting or sharing anything! Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallus receives a new undercover mission from Draven. It's not his favorite.

* * *

**KALLUZEB APPRECIATION WEEK 2020 - DAY 5 / TUESDAY MAY 5 / "UNDERCOVER"**

**for sempaiko <3**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

Alexsandr Kallus rubs his jaw thoughtfully. It isn’t that this mission is a _bad_ idea, necessarily. It’s just that it isn’t exactly a _good_ idea, either. 

“And we’re certain that it’s _these_ Imperials?” he asks the other man, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. “On _this_ island, and at _this_ resort?” He doesn’t mean to be rude. It’s only that he’s going to be be thrust neck-deep into a dangerous sea of former colleagues--and that he’d _really_ rather not _die_ after making it this far with the Rebellion. “It seems awfully idyllic.” 

It’s true: the holo-picture before them is beautiful. The beach-side resort that is the setting for his mission is abundant with slow-drifting clouds, waving palm trees, and turquoise waves lapping upon white, sandy shores. 

If he wasn’t worried about being recognized and _murdered_ , he’d almost be grateful. 

“Yes _, Captain_ Kallus,” General Davits Dravin says. “As you know: it is of _utmost_ importance that the Alliance recovers our stolen data-chip as soon as possible. The information it carries is highly sensitive, and _cannot_ fall into the wrong hands.” 

The serious, analytic man gives him a look with stern, narrowed eyes. He has never seemed like Alexsandr Kallus much; and if he didn’t know any better, Kallus would guess that he’d been selected for this particularly fraught mission as a means of some kind of punishment. 

Hatred of the Empire dies hard. 

“If all goes well and according to plan,” the general continues stiffly, “you and your partner should return to us within three days’ time at the latest.” 

Kallus winces. _If all goes well. This whole undercover mission is one writhing sarlacc pit just waiting to happen. Recovering sensitive, much-needed data? Infiltrating a private, Imperial-exclusive vacationing spot?_ He exhales a tight breath. _It’s all one massive trap. Not to mention,_ he fists his hands, _brushing shoulders with the very people who might recognize me from my time with the ISB._

“As you say, General,” he replies politely. 

Dravin nods his head. A cold, calculated smile curls over his lips. He knows just as well as Alexsandr Kallus that he has no other choice. 

Beckoning the former Imperial closer, Dravin picks up a data-pad for their viewing. 

“I understand that there are risks involved in sending you, Captain Kallus, “ Dravin says casually. "However, after consulting my team, we have no doubt that you are the best choice. With your skills in stealth, combat and under-cover training, you are the most suited--and highest ranking officer--for the job.” 

_And I’m sure that it bothers you terribly,_ Kallus thinks as he gazes back into the other man’s eyes, _that you might finally be rid of me here on Yavin 4’s base._

“Thank you, sir.” 

Dravin smiles thinly. The expression doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “You’re quite welcome, Captain Kallus. Everything else that you need is on this data-pad. Please review it, and then once you’ve finished, report promptly to the jumpship _Skyblazer._ Once you and your partner arrive within orbit, you will be deployed on the refurbished _Cocktail Hour_ in order to keep up the illusion of luxury.” 

For the first time in this debriefing, Kallus feels his brow wrinkle within confusion. 

“Sir?” he asks curiously. “I’m being sent with a partner?” 

There is an unpleasant glimmer in Draven’s blue eyes. He passes the data-pad to Kallus, gloved hands quickly withdrawing so as to avoid contact. 

“Yes, Captain. Due to the... _unique..._ circumstances of this particular resort, we thought it best for you to blend in with a suitable, non-human partner just like the others. It was essential that we select someone who could keep up the illusion of romance.”

Discomfort twists in Kallus’ gut as he begins to understand these implications. _Under-cover. As a couple. With a non-human partner._ There are several issues with this, for him. As a rule, the former ISB agent prefers to work by himself. Yes, he’ll go out on missions with other Spectres when it’s required, but otherwise, he finds himself able to move more freely without the distraction. Secondly... _romantically_? That really isn’t his strongest suit. Ever since his time enlisting for the Empire, Kallus has kept his needs (social, physical, or otherwise) on a tight leash. He hasn’t had much time for romance, or studying what it might actually mean to be one half of a couple. 

The _final_ part…

“Thank you, Sir,” Kallus replies calmly. He makes his voice far more confident than his present internal condition. “I’ve worked many times with General Syndulla before, and I’m sure we will do excellent work together.” 

For some reason, this makes General Draven _snicker._

“Oh, _no,_ Captain Kallus. There are far more... _important_ things for General Syndulla to attend to around base. No, you won’t be working with _her_.” 

Kallus grits his teeth. He doesn’t like it that Dravin is making this so hard; and he _really_ doesn’t like it that the other man is dropping any professional pretence of _not_ hating him. _What else is this asshole going to throw my way? I want to work with Hera! If it’s her, then at least I know_ _she can provide guidance and assistance. Hera is competent, clever, and she knows all the nuances of romance. I’ve seen as much with her and Kanan Jarrus._

“Very well, sir. Might I know who this partner is?” 

Dravin raises a well-groomed, mocking eyebrow. 

“Someone well-suited for the task, I assure you. A reliable man, both familiar with interspecies romance and with the demands of under-cover mission work.” 

Kallus flushes faintly in spite of himself. _So my interests are not as subtle as I’d hoped._

“Very good. And this man is--?” 

“Garazeb Orrelios.” 

Alexsandr Kallus feels his whole body stiffen. 

This is the worst of any _possible_ outcome. Not because Kallus dislikes the other man--in fact, he’d gone from the astonishing situation of being his former enemy to being his friend, perhaps even his very closest--but for the fact that he is consumingly, _fiercely_ in love with the man. And that he’s been doing everything within his power to avoid acting or saying anything that might reveal that. 

_Going under-cover with Zeb!?_ Kallus thinks, his startled mind racing. _Pretending to be a couple? A_ romantic _couple?!_ He swallows thickly, aware that General Draven is still watching him in his struggle. _We’ll be traveling together. Spending all of our time together. Feigning intimacy, speaking sweet, love-struck words. We’ll be playing a part, but we’ll also be dining, relaxing, and sharing a room together._

At this electric thought, a whole _new_ wave of horror seizes his body. _Oh my STARS. I CANNOT be_ roommates _with Garazeb Orrelios._

Forcing himself to look up at the General, Kallus smiles weakly and nods his head. It is taking all that he can do to keep himself from trembling, and he is not convinced that he has pulled it off. 

“As you say, sir,” he agrees pleasantly. “If there is nothing else…” 

General Dravin eyes flicker up and down Kallus’ form. For a tense moment, he has the feeling of being evaluated; and found in _error_. Dravin sniffs, turning away from Kallus dismissively. 

“No, that should be all, Captain Kallus. I just _know_ that you’re the one for this task...” 

Kallus pauses where he has lifted a foot in departure. 

“...I’ve been _assured_ as much by _many_ of the Rebels on base.” 

Face burning with embarrassment at what he is _certain_ is an insinuation--whether about his interest in men, his preference for aliens, or the combined addiction that is Garazeb Orrelios--he knows that it is meant to humiliate him. 

He will not entertain it. 

Clenching his hands within his fists, Captain Alexsandr Kallus stalks out of the base without saying another word.

And, very likely, towards his own undoing. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho-hooo, do you feel bad for the boy?! What do you think Zebby's reaction will be? Up next, two best friends sitting an inch apart inside of a space shuttle because they're NOT gay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys prepare a cover story. Kallus is anxious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a long break, but I'm back on my bullsh*t again! This story is going to be so fun, thanks for coming along with me. Let's see how much trouble these boys can get into this time...

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

Captain Alexsandr Kallus of the Rebellion is a trained, competent and capable killer. As a former agent of the Imperial Security Bureau, he is clever and intuitive. As someone who’d once been trained as a soldier, he is athletic and strong. Though he had come from ‘behind enemy lines,’ he’d quickly proven himself among the others, and had risen to the top of command. At nearly six and a half feet tall, and with decades of warrior training behind him, there is _very_ little that intimidates him when it comes to work. 

And _yet--_

He is currently hiding within the luxurious bathroom of the _Cocktail Hour._ Splashing cold water upon his flushed face. Telling himself that he _can_ handle the sweet-talk that Garazeb Orrelios has been practicing upon him, and that he _will_ manage this whole fake-dating situation with all the professional elegance possible, because, _despite_ his enamoration with the other man, this is _not_ a _real_ date. This is _business._

“Kal?” 

Zeb’s voice makes him jump. He knocks the decorative soap dispenser to the floor. 

“ _Shit!”_

“Er, sorry!” the Lasat chuckles from the other side of the door. He sounds cheerful, but concerned. “Didn’t mean interrupt ya! Yah’ve just been gone for awhile, so I thought that maybe I’d better check…?” his voice trails off.

Kallus groans with embarrassment. 

_Great._ Either his friend has realized how deeply _embarrassed_ their first round of ‘couple’s talk’ had made him, or he’d noticed the length of time that he’d been hiding in the bathroom, and had been forced to make deductions about what Kallus may or may not be doing in there. 

“No, the apologies are _mine,”_ he replies. Kallus kneels to retrieves the fallen dispenser, polishing the busaigle-shaped object upon his soft, loose-fitting pants. “I’m sorry to make you wait, Zeb. I am feeling a bit... _air-sick._ That is all. _”_

He cringes at the flimsiness of the lie. 

True, it _has_ been some time since Kallus has been off-world; most of his intelligence work keeps him landside Yavin 4, and he’s become acquainted to the way that gravity pull heavy upon his limbs. But most of his life _has_ been on ships--be it the _Ghost_ or the _Chimera--_ and the likelihood of his ‘sickness’ is minimal. 

But Zeb is Alexandr Kallus’ _friend._ He does not question whether or not he is being lied to. Instead, he hums with sympathy from the other side of the door. 

“Aw, sorry to hear that, Kal. Want to join me for a Space Bloody Mary once yer done in there? It’ll settle yer stomach...” his voice is sing-song and inviting. 

Inside the bathroom, Kallus stands and straightens his shirt. _Perhaps I could_ _pass it off for another illness than heart-sickness._ After all, his reflection _does_ look off: flush-faced and sweating; hair sticking to his brow; clammy hands opening and closing uncertainly at his sides.

“That’s very kind of you, Zeb. Yes, I’ll take you up on that, thanks.” 

“Yer welcome! I’ll get to it.” 

Kallus hears the sound of the Lasat’s heavy footsteps walking away. He sighs, leaning his hands against the gilded sink. 

_Deep breaths. You can do this. You see Zeb every day._ He looks up, doing his best to look cool and confident at his reflection. _What’s the difference if today he is holding your hand? What does it matter if today he is whispering sweet nothings into your ear, pulling you close to walk by his side? He doesn’t_ **_mean_ ** _that. It’s just..._ **_business._ **

Alexsandr Kallus nods. He schools his face into a calm, familiar mask of confidence, and then exits the bathroom into the ship.

The _Cocktail Hour_ is a luxury cruiser. The Rebellion had clearly struck gold when young Ezra Bridger had convinced his associate _(pirate)_ Hondo to release it _(steal it away)_ for serving the purposes of resistance. It’s a very fancy ship--far more fancy than necessary, even to Alexsandr Kallus, who had grown up around the most ostentatious Imperials. The seats are covered in plush, red velvet material, there is a jacuzzi sunk into the floor, and there is a fully-stocked wet-bar ( _for the aptly-named ship)._ Every window and doorway is gilded and scored; gemstones glitter down from the ceiling, and something that he _suspects_ is the skull of a Saber-Toothed Icecat grins at him from the ceiling, flaunting the lifestyles of the rich and famous. 

_More like ‘the obtuse and gluttonous,'_ Kallus thinks, his thin mouth twisting in distaste.

In some ways, it’s been a lifetime since he’s left the Empire. In other ways, it’s still too soon, and he finds himself trapped within the presence of those who strip down and disenfranchise others as a form of daily entertainment. 

“Kal?” 

His eyes are pulled from a cherubic fountain to his friend standing behind the bar. Garazeb Orrelios is... _flawless._ As _usual._

Stirring the final olives into a tall, red-colored rink, the purple-furred man is stripped down to the waist. He is wearing a pair of form-fitting swim-trunks, decorated with a bright, floral pattern and clinging to the powerful muscles of his thighs. Like many other kinds of jungle cats, Lasats _love_ to swim--and Zeb can hardly _contain_ his excitement that their mission will include time on the beach. At this, at least, he will not have to pretend. 

Kallus’ eyes trail over the rippling biceps and tightly-fitting trunks, and he privately wonders why Draven couldn’t have sent them to the arctic. (Perhaps, their next base would bless him by being somewhere _cold.)_

Finishing the concoction, Zeb flicks liquor from his fingers. He looks up, beaming. “Ready for some cocktail hour on the _Cocktail Hour?”_

Kallus smirks and shakes his head at the poor joke, accepting the glass. For a brief moment, their fingertips brush--and his soft, human hands are dwarfed by the enormity of Zeb’s four, clawed fingers. Even that slightest of touches sends a thrill of delight jolting through him. He bites his lip and takes a step back. 

“You have my gratitude, Zeb.” Kallus lifts the drink to sip, and flinches at the pungent saltiness of it. “Bah! You--” he looks up at the Lasat, wincing, “you _really_ made it strong, my friend!” 

Zeb grins. “I figure that we better start getting ready for mouthfuls of that flavor,” he replies. His irises grow wide, and he laughs at Kallus’ apparent expression of horror.“The _ocean,_ Kal. I’m talking about goin’ swimmin’ on the beach, and gettin’ a facefull of _seawater.”_

Laughing with what he _knows_ is anxiety, Kallus forces himself to take a seat at the high-topped bar. He wraps his lips over the edge of the glass again and downs a massive mouthful. After swallowing thickly ( _and cursing himself for his amorous brain, which is encouraging him to think of other circumstances with Zeb),_ he replies, “R-right, of course!” 

His companion leans against the countertop with his forearms and elbows. The short, velvety fur ripples with what is likely amusement as he watches Kallus struggle. But there is nothing cutting or unkind in his lovely, green eyes; in fact, he seems to be enjoying his time, and enjoying Kallus. 

“I fergot to ask ya.” Zeb raises one eyebrow at Kallus. “I shoulda asked before we were praticin’ earlier, but what should I call ya while we’re here?” 

Alexsandr Kallus blinks. 

“Kallus?” 

Zeb snorts. “Right. And you call me Captain Orrelios, and we’ll be packing our bags before nightfall.” He shakes his head. “No, even though Draven said we should be able to call one another by our ‘real’ names, I think that we need to agree on somethin’ more casual for both of us. _And_ a pet-name.” 

In lieu of answering, Kallus slugs on his Space Bloody Mary. The beverage Zeb made for him contains hot-spiced tomato juice, marinated and pickled vegetables, _several_ shots of vodka, and what appears to be black-peppered bacon. It’s _good._ It also gives him a few more seconds to think before answering the other man in a way that might make him suspect. 

“...Maybe, I should call you _Garazeb_?” he asks, eyes on the cocktail. “Most people call you ‘Zeb,’ and it might seem like something special reserved for a partner.” 

Zeb hums in agreement. He fishes one clawed finger into his own drink, searching for bacon. “Yeah, I like that,” he says. “Don’t usually do it that way, but, il’ll only be you...an’ _Hera_ , of course. But that’s just when I’m in trouble.” He winks at Kallus. Kallus smiles shakily back. 

“And for you, maybe I can call ya Al?” 

Kallus blushes a bit at Zeb’s choice. He hasn’t been _“Al”_ since his first boyfriend. 

“Sure, Garazeb. That works for me.” 

The Lasat smiles brightly. “That makes it easy! It’s so close to ‘Kal’ anyway.” He finds the bacon that he’s been searching for, and plucks it from the glass with a triumphant expression. “Ah-ha! Anyways: fer the pet name, I was thinkin’ _darlin’.”_

If he hadn’t told Zeb that he was sick earlier, it would have made less sense when Kallus ducks and covers his face with his hands. 

“K-- _Al?_ You doin’ okay there?!” 

Feeling like he’s been bathed in the spicy salts that Zeb used for the cocktail, Kallus waves the other man away. He wipes at one of his streaming eyes. 

“O-of course, j-just swallowed a p-pepper. Yes, Garazeb: that’s fine. I can handle that.” 

_I cannot handle that. I cannot handle you looking at me like that and calling me ‘darlin’. I cannot do this. I have to resign. I have to call back to base, have to ask for Hera--_

“What’re ya gonna call me?” Zeb asks.

He is watching Kallus with curious eyes, drumming his fingertips against the countertop. If he were to allow the agent within him to analyze the situation, the former Imperial might even suspect that Zeb was _excited_ to hear his answer. But, he cannot afford to think like that. So:

“Dear,” he replies. “Unless you have any objections, I shall call you ‘ _my dear_.’” 

The Lasat nods his head. His chest swells, and from beneath the lilac-white fur, Kallus thinks that he can hear the beginning rumblings of a purr. He feels great relief at the other man’s easy acceptance, and found that the words had been _surprisingly_ easier to say. In some ways, it was even a kind of confession. The idea lightens the anxious weight upon his own chest. 

“Okay,” Kallus says, lacing his fingertips over the mouth of his half-empty drink. “So we’ve got that decided. What else do we need? Our cover-story?” 

“Already got some of that figured out,” Zeb replies with a wink. He steps back, reaching low behind the countertop. “You an’ me met while we were both workin’ security jobs on Mylito. You went the classic Academy route, and I was a former Honor Guard member who transferred there after Lasan--servin’ the Empire in exchange for them doin’ such a great job of makin’ my homeworld a better, more secure place an’ all.” 

Kallus winces. He makes apologetic eye-contact with Zeb as the Lasat draws back up, one hand closed around a small object. 

“That’s...brutal, Garazeb. You shouldn’t have to tell a lie like that.” 

_The Empire murdered your people. Occupied your planet. Nothing could be farther from the truth than the story you’re telling._

Zeb shrugs. With his free hand, he scratches behind his ear. “The best lies always contain some kinda truth. Several parts of that story _are_ true--just not the _important_ ones.” He looks back at Kallus. “Not the ones that are important to _us_ , anyway.” 

Kallus wants to say more, but he suspects that it might be best to allow his friend to set the terms. Rather than arguing it, he nods his head. _If Zeb can handle telling that story, I can manage to follow along._

“Right. So I met this handsome Lasat security guard, and I couldn’t keep my hands off him?” 

Zeb winks. He reaches out with the closed hand and hovers it front of Kallus, waiting for him to accept what is inside. 

“Somethin’ like that. After we hooked up--an I gave ya _this--_ we both transferred to neighboring Banjito, where we’ve been taking private security jobs ever since.” 

He drops a small, glowing object into Kallus’ hand. A _ring._ Golden, hand-carved and _warm._

“Y-you--” Kallus looks up, wide-eyed. “Is t-this made of...our _meteorite_?” 

Zeb chuckles, and Kallus repeats the words in his head. _Our._ He flushes, hand closing tightly around the ring. Hardly daring to believe that the stone that had saved his life--given to him by the _man_ who had saved his life--had been returned to him, he stares at the object. It glows faintly against his closed palm, as if just as happy to be reunited. 

“Wish it could be,” Zeb replies. “Nah, that was lost along with yer bo-rifle. Well, not _lost…”_ Kallus looks up to see the Lasat lifting both hands apologetically. “Just, _separated._ For _now.”_ On one of his four fingers, a matching ring--the same make and model as Kallus’ own, only much larger--glimmers there. “We’ll get it back someday.” 

Kallus gulps. _Just work. Just for business._

“Someday,” he echoes. 

Zeb nods. He looks pleased. 

“I’m really glad that ya like it! Like I said: the best lies always have truth nested inside. This meteor is a part of our story--how we became friends, and how you joined the Rebellion, I mean--and the meaning behind it is real enough to matter.” He taps the one upon his own hand. 

Kallus closes his eyes. _You have no idea. No idea at_ **_all_ ** _how much this matters to me._ When he opens them again, he finds the Lasat looking at him expectantly. Kallus clears his throat. 

“Very good, Garazeb. Alright: we have names. We have a story. Now, we have matching engagement rings. Is there anything else that we need before landing?” 

His friend’s smile grows wide. Setting his finished glass down on the counter, he licks his lips. 

“Yeah, I think that we’ve pretty much covered it. Unless...ya wanna practice _kissin?”_

Kallus reels back, knocking over his Space Bloody Mary. 

“ _Shit!”_

“I’m jokin’! I’m only _jokin’!”_ Zeb laughs, hurrying over to help him. 

“Karabast, Kal. Good thing I mentioned it here--because yer gonna have to take a few deep breaths and get _used_ to the idea before we land. As far as everybody else around here knows, we’ve been boning for _ages.”_

 _I know,_ Kallus thinks, praying to the Ashla that Zeb could not see how much the idea both terrified and aroused him. _And that’s precisely why I’m in so much trouble._

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheheheheh Kallus is PINING. The question is...how aware is our Garazeb Orrelios, hmm? And do you think that K/Al is going to survive very long in this environment? We shall see. OH ALSO: thanks for putting up with my bs that they would be able to keep their real names. YES I KNOW it would be too obvious, but I enjoyed their little conversation so much, I just HAD to include it that way. Thanks for playing pretend / suspension of disbelief with me. : )


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the elegant resort. Sexy, seaside dining. And a flustered, drunk Kallus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd rather avoid Kallus' brain while he is inebriated, just skip from the dinner portion to the end for a brief recap!

* * *

**THREE**

* * *

It hadn’t been the way that Zeb had held his hand while they’d descended the ship ( _with his large, four-fingered paw wrapped around Kallus’ fingers)._ It hadn’t been the way that he’d checked them together into their shared room ( _with an arm wrapped possessively around his shoulder, pulling him close into his warm side)._ It hadn’t even been the way that Zeb had thrown himself down on their enormous, _(singular)_ Emperor-sized bed, groaning with satisfaction. 

It had been the way that he’d led Kallus by the hand to the beach. Gently, excitedly. 

“Just wait for it, Al! Trust me!”

Kallus chuckles nervously from beneath Garazeb Orrelios’ hand. The Lasat is leading him over the sandy, water-smoothed stones that form the walkway from their hotel room to the beach, with one of his giant hands resting carefully over his eyes. He couldn’t see, but it didn’t matter. He could _feel._ The way that sand slid beneath his toes--the way that Zeb’s soft, velvety fur brushed against his cheekbones and jaw--

“I do trust you, Garazeb,” he responds quietly. “With my life. As you already know.” 

The hand over his eyes shifts, revealing a breathtaking, ruby-gold sunset. The light catches off of Zeb’s meteorite ring, glittering golden-yellow and familiar in the evening. 

“Course I do,” Zeb responds gruffly. “Yer my husband, after all.” 

No matter how performative these words must be, Kallus finds himself ducking and blushing. He is _thankful_ for the dim, rosey lighting of the evening sunset over the beach, as it obscures his embarrassed coloration from his best friend. _A mission,_ he reminds himself firmly. _We’re on a mission here, Kallus._

“Yes, dear,” he answers. 

Garazeb _beams._

They’d arrived late in the afternoon at the _Force Seasons_ Resort, with not enough time to explore both the lodging and beach before the sunset washed over the waves. And yet, even in the low, evening darkness, Kallus can still tell that the exclusive, Imperial-funded resort is _every bit_ of a vacationer’s dream: the swaying palm-trees, decorated with winking fairy-lights wrapped around their twirling bases; the oceanside, open-sky restaurant, from which delicious smells are emanating, and at which Zeb had made their dinner reservations; and the illuminated, jade-colored infinity pool that pours from their balcony, marking their room (the _honeymoon suite)_ even from afar as they walk on the beach. 

Zeb catches Kallus’ eye on the waterfall and grins. 

“Hard to get lost, huh?” 

“No kidding,” Kallus smirks. He falls into an easy walking-pace alongside his friend, matching two of his strides for every one of the Lasat's larger ones. 

The sound of waves sighing against the shore soothes his fragile nerves, and he feels himself relaxing into the familiar company. Zeb and Kallus have been on many missions together--none of them quite so pointedly _romantic--_ but he’s grown so used to the presence of the other man at his side that he’s _ached_ for him when he’s gone. Zeb has a way of putting him at ease: laughing at heavy, absurd situations; teasing him lightly out of anxiety spirals. Kallus could spend every moment with him and never be bored, always engaged with his wry sense of humor, bright mind, and softness of heart. 

In the cool night air, Kallus feels himself leaning towards the warmth of the other man. 

“Don’t you worry, Al,” Zeb says, correctly reading his facial expression for angst. “We’ll get _plenty_ of time for swimmin’ tomorrow. Our only task is to relax an’ _enjoy,_ so that we can get the lay of the land, and start preppin’ for intel.” 

Kallus smiles. Of _course_ Zeb would be most focused on _swimming._ He wouldn’t be dwelling on the plans that Draven had mapped out for them like Kallus had been--the sunbathing, the spa day, the charted sailing ship around the island-- because Zeb wasn’t like _him._ Garazeb Orrelios was a good man, who was unbothered by the idea of spending an intimate day with his best friend that involved slathering sunscreen upon one another’s backs, that involved huddling close and sharing a bed--

The anxiety must have revealed itself on his face, because Zeb reaches out to take his hand.

“Mind if I--?” he asks, brushing his clawed fingertips over Kallus’ white knuckles. 

“N-no. Not at all.” 

Barely _breathing_ , he walks hand-in-hand down the beach with Zeb. Kallus thinks that he ought to strike himself, so that the might wake up from this starry-eyed dream. Holding hands with Garazeb has been _heavily_ featured throughout his daydreams--and nighttime fantasies--since even before he’d arrived on the _Ghost._ Thoughts of growing closer to Zeb had started after they’d shared body heat on Bahryn..and had continued ever since. 

“M’glad yer feelin’ better,” Zeb’s warm, low voice says casually. “Now that we’ve landed.” 

Kallus blinks stupidly. _What?_

Then he remembers his words from within the bathroom. 

“Oh. _Oh!_ Yes, thank you, Garazeb. I appreciate that. Yes, I’m feeling much better to have my feet on solid land again. I was quite surprised at myself, and how quickly I got used to the gravity pull upon Yavin 4!” 

He is babbling, and he _knows_ it. Kallus bites his lip, looking away towards the restaurant. _Just put one foot in front of the other,_ he instructs himself. _If you can be Fulcrum, you can surely do this. You can go out to eat. On the beach. With your best friend._

Zeb snuffles in the sea breeze. His deep-purple tongue flicks out from his mouth to swipe over his lips. 

“ _Mmmm!_ Dinner!” He looks at Kallus brightly, ears swivelling forward with excitement. “Well, thank the Ashla yer doin’ better, because I booked us the four-course sweethearts meal. M’ not gonna eat all of _that_ by myself!” 

As if on cue, Kallus’ empty stomach growls. He winces, and the Lasat holding his hand laughs out loud. The sound, once again, puts him at ease: washing warm and lovely over him, wrapping him up with familiar, loving warmness. 

“Yes, my dear,” he replies. “I’m looking forward to it also.” 

And if Kallus’ eyes sparkle with adoration in the emerging starlight? Well. Who’s to say that they did. It’s dark outside, after all. 

* * *

Zeb dabs softly at the corner of Kallus’ mouth with the smooth strip of silk. 

The Lasat has been slowly, _tenderly_ feeding him a pearlescent crustacean bisque with a shared bowl and spoon. Every time that he’d raised the smooth, curved surface of the utensil to Kallus’ lips, he’d blow on it gently, dutifully sipping at the salted liquid into his mouth. Kallus had been careful to take his time and not slurp--but still, every once and a while, he misses. On those rare occasions, Zeb is already there, ready and waiting with a napkin. To him, it must feel just like what is necessary and involved in playing the part of a caring, involved romantic partner. 

To Kallus, it feels _completely_ indecent. 

“Good, my darlin’?” Zeb purrs at him.

 _So_ _good,_ Kallus thinks. By his estimation, this dinner has been something straight out of a romantic _holo_. Seated barefoot in the sand at a silk-covered table that faces the ocean, they’ve together on small plates of shared, exquisite foods: among these, a salad of fresh microgreens, prepared with brightly-scaled fish and citrusfruit dressing; a chilled root-vegetable soup, served with crisp and steaming oven-warm bread; and a thinly-chopped shellfish and stonefruit ceviche. At the present, Zeb is feeding him the hot, creamy crustacean bisque that arrives just before the entree--and it’s making Kallus feel _distinctly_ aroused. 

“Yes. _Good,”_ he sighs in reply. For a moment, he allows himself to reveal a glimmer of his true, love-struck eagerness. _“So_ good, Garazeb! In fact, I would even say: _exceptional!_ ” 

Even though each bite has been as delicate as it has been exquisite, Kallus already feels as though he’s stuffed with the largest of Life Day feastings. Perhaps this feeling is due to the luxury of being hand-fed every morsel by Zeb’s enormous fingers; regardless, he is feeling content. And for some _Ashla_ -forsaken reason, he’d gone and ordered the largest entree on the menu earlier: a bantha steak, slathered in garlic butter, shallots, and prepared with shellfish. 

_Just what I need,_ Kallus scolds himself. _Another aphrodisiac._

From across the table, Garazeb purrs with lazy contentment. One of his lower fangs has popped from beneath his lip, and his green eyes have grown hooded and heavy. Perhaps Kallus is not the _only_ one who is feeling the evening of travel, good food and wine. 

“S’what I like to hear,” the Lasat rumbles. From across the table, Kallus can see the vibrations of his thrumming vocal muscles in his throat. “That yer doin’ _good_. That yer feelin’ _happy.”_

Rather than returning his hand back to his lap, Zeb allows it to fall into Kallus’ open, upturned hand. His friend gently squeezes his fingers. 

Kallus blushes, and his heartbeat accelerates within his chest. The words (and the gesture) are romantic and kind, and he can _almost_ make himself believe that they are genuine.

 _He’s talking to you as his ‘husband,’ now, Kallus! So buckle up and play the part._ It’s harder than it looks to muster up the words; the heavy, warm stupor of food--plus the blooming heat of Zeb’s handsome smolder--makes it difficult to keep a clear head. _Match him stride for stride._ Swallowing and thinking carefully, Kallus considers what a lover might say. 

“I _am_ happy,” he replies softly. He returns the squeeze to Zeb’s hand, circling his thumb over the firm pad of the Lasat’s hand. “ _Blissfully.”_

For a moment, Zeb looks completely taken by surprise. _(Ha!_ Kallus thinks: _two can play at this game after all!)_ But then, he settles back into a look of wry satisfaction. Garazeb Orrelios squeezes Kallus’ palm back with a movement of his hand, then gives him a saucy wink. 

“Good,” he rumbles. “Yer gonna be even happier...once I get ya back to _bed_.” 

In spite of himself, Kallus gasps and withdraws his hand.

 _I take it back!,_ he thinks, flushing from white to red. _Zeb is_ **_far_ ** _beyond my league!_

“Garazeb--we’re--we’re in _public!”_ he hisses, heart thundering in his throat. 

Zeb smirks, never taking his eyes off of Kallus as he loses his composure. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say that the Lasat is _enjoying_ himself while he panics. Fumbling for a quick cover, he reaches for his iced wine, and takes a larger slug than practical or necessary. Of course, this means that he _chokes_ , coughing and gasping, wiping at his eyes. _Nice._ He glares at the Lasat through streaming, accusatory lashes. 

“What?” Zeb asks, all innocence. “A man can’t appreciate his husband?” 

Rather than argue, Kallus turns towards the waiter who has just arrived with two, _large_ entrees of steaming food. He’s going to put as much of that into his mouth as he can--and as _quickly as possible--_ so that he doesn’t further embarrass himself.

Every last, singular bite is _delicious._

* * *

Their walk back to the suite is a colorful blur. 

Kallus feels wine-drunk and heavy, and his limbs are exhausted from travel and bearing the weight of anxiety. He recalls leaning against Zeb--one arm wrapped around the other man’s waist, and the other twined within his soft fur--and, and one point, being _lifted_ so that he would not have to navigate the maze of the stairs. 

“S’very nice,” Kallus praises, blinking at their decorated room as Zeb thumbs open the door.

Soft, warm lighting illuminates the expansive suite. The walls are decorated with highly-textured paintings in heavy frames, and the room smells faintly of cloves and cinnamon. A garland of flowers rests on top of their dresser, along with a hand-written note _(“Please enjoy your time here at the Force Seasons Resort!”)_ upon actual flimsy. These same, marigold-yellow and crimson blooms have been scattered upon the still, warm surface of their sunk-in jacuzzi, which unfolds through the shutter door onto the balcony ( _and off of the infinity ledge)._ If Kallus did not feel so beckoned by the wine-red, silken sheets that have been drawn back in invitation, he would have gone and dipped his toes into the pool. 

But, instead, he flops face-first onto the bed. 

“Heheh. Yeah, I bet it looks _real_ nice from up close, Al,” Zeb teases. 

Kallus smiles into the soft sheets beneath him, feeling dizzy and warm and content. If he had even a singular bone in his body that he could influence right now, he would use it to turn himself towards the sounds of the Lasat undressing. 

“What can I do to help ya get ready for bed?” his friend asks. 

Moaning from the effort, Kallus rolls over. The world swims. He turns his heavy head to the side to see that the other man has removed his elegant dinner jacket and trousers, and is now left standing in form-fitting, chartreuse-green boxer shorts. They cling to every line of his muscles, and reveal the soft, inward curve of his thighs. 

For some reason, this makes Kallus _giggle._

“Right. Yer not with it,” Zeb snorts in amusement. 

The Lasat doesn’t look disturbed or uncomfortable by Kallus’ loopiness; just entertained. And _aware._ Kallus recognizes that particular look from each and every time they’d gone out as a pair after a successful mission--getting properly _sloshed_ together at the bar, then staggering home to their individual beds.

Not like _tonight,_ however. Not like _here,_ where they are, apparently _, sharing_ this bed. 

“Jus’ let me take m’shirt off,” Kallus tells him seriously. 

With effort, he pushes himself up on his forearms, and begins to unbutton the dress-shirt that he’d worn for the romantic dinner. He’d been careful and intentional about picking it: a soft shade of emerald-green, that both matched Zeb’s eyes and enhanced the ginger within his hair.

“ _Kriff!_ These lil’ fuckers are _tinier_ than they look!” 

Kallus fumbles at them for a moment, growing more and more messy, before he hears the sound of the bed creaking. He looks up to see Garazeb now sitting _very_ close, leaning towards him so that he can nearly touch Kallus’ chest where his half-open shirt is resting. 

He wonders if the beating of his heart is visible, and he giggles again. 

“D’ya mind?” Zeb asks. It’s an echo of his invitation earlier, when he’d reached out to gently hold Kallus’ hand while he was nervous. 

Once again, Kallus shakes his head.

With a groan of relief, he sighs back onto the sheets of the bed and allows Zeb to work open the buttons down his chest and over his navel. 

“This is _nice,”_ he says with relish. Kallus sighs, feeling the shirt falling away from Zeb’s gentle ministrations, and he allows the Lasat to begin tugging the fabric cuffs away from his elbows. “You’n’me. I’ve missed ya.” 

“Yeah?” 

Zeb’s voice is steady and calm. His hands work the shirt from Kallus’ wrists, and he deposits it finally upon the floor. 

Kallus hums in agreement, raising his hips into Zeb’s empty hands. 

“Be a pal an’ do this next?” 

With a grunt, Zeb complies.

“ _Ahhh,_ that’s it!” Kallus exhales, wriggling with enjoyment and relief as the Lasat pulls the fabric of his trousers away from his hips. “ _Yeah._ You’n’me: missed this. So at first, I was excited when Draven called us.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, course! But then...I was _worried.”_

Zeb’s pauses where he is working the trouser cuffs from around his ankles. The velvet fur on the top of his knuckles brushes against his foot, and he giggles once more. 

“Yes. But’now, s’ _fine._ I shouldn’tve worried. We haven’t kissed an’ stuff. You just made me a cocktail, and a soap dispenser, and a really nice, big dinner.” 

“A _big_ dinner,” Zeb agrees. His voice is amused, but gentle. 

Kallus grins. His mouth is still rich with the taste of their dessert--a boozy, heart-shaped chocolate confection filled to _bursting_ with survey-sweet, high-volume liquor. 

“Yeah. Big dinner for a coupla’ big, ol’ guys,” Kallus says. 

Weight shifts upon the bed, and the snick of a lightswitch throws the room into darkness. Everything feels cool and soft, and Kallus groans with happiness at the smoothness of the silk sheets beneath his head. It feels even _better_ when Zeb’s hands come to rest upon his skin, gently maneuvering his body this way and that until he is resting upon the pillow. 

“For a coupla friends,” Kallus adds.

“Mmm.” 

“ _Best_ friends.” 

Soft, _wonderful_ sheets are drawn up and over his bare skin. Kallus shivers with pleasure at the texture of it. If he was at home, he would cast of his boxers, rolling around in the luxurious, new sensation of the bed with every inch of his skin. In fact, that’s a _very_ good idea--

“... _Al.”_

At Zeb’s murmur, Kallus suddenly becomes aware of the strong, firm strong hands encircling his wrists. He realizes that the thumbs hooked over fabric are not even _his_ boxers, but _Zeb’s._ Of the way that his hands had led him forward and towards his desire, without even bringing along his head. 

“Time for ya to get some rest.” 

Dizzily, Kallus allows himself to be handled into a sleeping position. If he would have had better presence of mind, he would have pushed back-- _no._ He never would have _allowed_ himself to be in the position where he’d be in the same bed as Zeb, the man he loved, but could never have back. If Kallus was _better,_ he could be brave, and reach out for Zeb for the man to hold him. If Kallus was _good,_ maybe he could even confess his feelings, tell the man that he loved him, that he’d spent his whole life waiting for him...

“Sshhh,” Zeb whispers. “That’s it. Time to rest.” 

Kallus allows himself to sink into the dreamlike wonder of Zeb brushing his hands through his long, unbound hair. As the feeling of clawed fingertips trail over his scalp--and the warmth of the other man radiates through the bed, even with the distance of pillows between them--he can almost convince himself that this is actually happening. 

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In summary: Kallus does more anxiety-drinking, and a boozy desert puts him under the table. Without his cloud of anxiety, he expresses his affection for Zeb with greater ease. Zeb helps him get ready for bed. Kallus starts to get a little handsy, and Zeb puts an end to it. They fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallus and Zeb are in for a fun day of "work." Things heat up quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up on a potential squick during the massage therapy session. Please tread carefully and read the disclaimer after reading.

* * *

**FOUR**

* * *

When Alexandr Kallus awakens, it is to the stuff of his dreams--and his _nightmares._ He finds himself shirtless and shoeless in bed, wrapped tightly within the strong arms of Garazeb Orrelios, held closely against his warm, fuzzy chest. But he _also_ finds himself with a pounding, eye-watering headache; a raging hard-on; and an urgent, stomach-roiling need to figure out how _exactly_ he’d gotten himself into this current position. Because, for the moment, he cannot _remember_. 

_Karabast!_

Their current, _intimate_ posture does not help him to sort out the situation. If he wasn’t panicking so much, Kallus could have possibly enjoyed the rapture of this moment: the way that Zeb is hugging him close, gathering Kallus against the steadiness of his heartbeat; the way that each swelling inhale and exhale brushes Zeb’s ribcage against Kallus’ back, tickling his spine with his warm, fuzzy chest; the way that each breath snorts in a noseful of hair, drawing loose threads of Kallus close even as he angles his hips carefully away. 

_Breathe, Alexsandr. What happened last night? What do you remember?_

Willing himself not to feel the way that the Lasat’s body is pressing against him, Kallus attempts to retrieve memories from last night. He’d been drunk; _that_ much is clear. Something about--a spiked dessert? Something about--himself attempting to swim in a public fountain, in some sort of odd attempt to impress Zeb? Something about--asking the Last to carry him up the stairs?

Groaning, Kallus squeezes his eyes shut with embarrassment. 

And then, something else rises from the blurry darkness: the sudden, _horrifying_ image of himself sprawled wantonly out on the bed, gazing up at Zeb, seductively rolling his hips while begs for the man to take off his clothes. 

_KARABAST!_ Kallus gasps. _Did I--did we--?!_

Zeb gives a snorting breath from behind him, interrupting the churning thoughts in his head. The sounds of his snores are steadily growing lighter, and the gingers splayed over his chest are gently beginning to stir. Zeb seems to be waking up--and, as he does, the strong, clawed hand over Kallus’ heart becomes ever more soft: stroking over his fragile skin in a kneading motion. 

_No,_ Kallus thinks, his heart trembling with relief. _N_ _o, of course we didn’t..._ ** _Zeb_ ** _didn’t..._ the tension within his body releases as the tender-hearted Lasat snuffles against the back of his neck. _He is an honorable man. No matter what kind of person_ **_I_ ** _am..._ Kallus looks down at his tented underwear, at his hips, slotted perfectly between his friends’ own, _no matter how much of an idiot I make myself, Garazeb Orrelios is a good man. He always wants to do the right thing._

The hand over his heart suddenly stiffens, as does the warm, damp breath on his neck. Zeb has woken up, and has realized how they are resting together. 

“Heheh, sorry, Al,” his low voice rumbles. “M’kindof a snuggler.” 

At these words, Kallus allows himself to release the nervous laughter that has been building up from within his chest. It bubbles out, just a tickle from between his lips. Even so, he can feel the smile of Zeb’s lips on the back of his neck in pleased response. 

“I’m familiar,” Kallus croaks. _Damn!_ His voice is rough. That desert must have _really_ packed quite a punch. “We huddled together on that ice moon. Remember?” 

The hand upon his chest strokes downward. Zeb’s fingertips thread through the fine trail of curling, strawberry-blond hair, pausing to hover just over his navel. “How could I forget?” he murmurs. The gravelly, sleep-rough sound sound of his voice makes Kallus _shiver._ For more than the first time, he wonders if his hesitation to act upon his feelings for Zeb that night on Bahryn had been a mistake. 

“How could _I_ forget?” Kallus teases back, “Your morning breath _stinks._ In fact--” he grins, shifting beneath Zeb’s hand, “I’m having flashbacks right _now!”_

Rude for the first time, the clawed fingertips upon his navel pil _pinch._ Kallus yips, jolting upright.

“Fine. I’m smelly--an yer _ticklish!”_ Zeb laughs. He rolls away as Kallus seizes a pillow, smacking at the retreating Lasat until he releases the soft fold of sensitive skin. “Hey, that one’s on _you,_ buddy! Never leave your blindside open to yer enemy.” 

Kallus grins, holding the pillow suspended within his hands. He realizes that he is kneeling upon the bed, with the soft, slippery sheets underneath his knees, and his body angled over Garazeb. The Lasat seems to be realizing this too, because his smile stills, and his eyes lock upon Kallus. 

The moment is still for a _long_ time. 

Forcing himself to break the intensity of their eye-contact, Kallus drops the pillow between them. “Sailing!” Kallus exclaims suddenly. “Zeb, we have a _sailing_ appointment this morning. We’ve got to get going down to the docks! We don't want to be late.” 

The Lasat stretches and groans, extending his arms up above his head. In spite of his attempt to redirect the heaviness of the moment, Kallus finds his eyes drawn down to the long lines of Garazeb’s body: the powerful musculature, interwoven with lilac and darker-violet stripes; the thick, darker hair of his chest, navel, and armpits; the curve of his spine, as he arches upward, yawning and rousing his body. 

The strain of his tented boxers. 

“I _‘spose,”_ Zeb says. He sounds... _reluctant._ “Yeah, fine. We want to get out ahead of those Imperials anyway. Gotta look impressive, an’ charter the sexiest ship.” 

Kallus can _not_ allow himself to speak the words on his mind. He can _not_ allow himself to act upon the urges of his hands--of his _mouth--_ and to sink into what _(at least, in his mind)_ is an intimate welcome. He cannot allow himself to be drawn into the illusion that their under-cover work is a reality; that they are here for more than _business,_ no matter how much he wants to dwell in the idea that he could mean more to Garazeb Orrelios. 

Instead, he tears himself away from the bed, ignoring his aching head and his pounding heart as he makes for the fresher.

* * *

_This is paradise,_ Kallus thinks. _Or, it would be--if it were_ **_real._ **

The shallow, warm ocean water is vivid and blue. The wind whips around them, pulling the threads of Zeb’s fur over his muscular frame. Waves churn against the front of their sailboat, cresting over the bow and splashing over the tall, proud Lasat in a breaking, white foam. Droplets shimmer in the light, casting rainbows over the pearly, white deck of the ship. 

This first day of their under-cover job is solely devoted to making the other Imperials believe that they are deeply invested in the retreat--and in their relationship with each other--and Kallus intends to make the _most_ of it. They've booked for themselves a full day of all the most exotic and enjoyable activites: sailing around the island; swimming and snorkeling at a popular bay; a picnic lunch in the sand; a relaxing afternoon at the spa; all finished up with a late-night of stargazing and champaign upon the beach. 

_If only this was not for business,_ Kallus thinks. _If we were not here for fun, for the actual pleasure of spending time with one another, because we were in_ love...

Garazeb Orrelios turns his head to look over his shoulder at Kallus. The Lasat is practically _heroic_ in his adventurous posture: one knee bent forward, foot up on the rail, a massive hand holding the twisted rope at the nose of the ship. “Alexsandr!” he bellows, voice booming over the crashing waves against the hull. “Al! You’ve gotta try this! Come an' join me up here!” 

From where he is lounging upon the ship’s hammock, Kallus waves him away. As tempting as the invitation is, he presently has a tropical drink (something with fruit and rum); he has a wide-brimmed hat, keeping the sun off of his freckled skin; and he has the _best_ view in the galaxy (glittering waves, white shore, and Zeb’s rounded, magnificent ass).

He is _not_ going _anywhere._

“M’fine right now, dear,” he replies. “Maybe a little later?" 

Undaunted by his reluctance, Zeb’s eyes glitter with happiness. He salutes in reply, then turns back to watching the rolling waves. If Alexandr Kallus had to guess, he could not think of a time when Zeb had ever appeared more at ease and _happy._

 _Maybe in another lifetime, he is a pirate,_ Kallus muses. _Someone who lives on the open seas, unbound by duties to a war or rebellion._ The thought makes him grin. 

It had been a perfectly _glorious_ time thus far out on the waves: the fresh, tangy air; the bright, brilliant sunlight; the fluffy, white clouds that dolloped the sky. They’d begun their trip in the quiet, turquoise bay earlier that morning, with Garazeb haggling down the dockworkers to rent out the very best, most luxurious cruiser. It wasn’t a _sailboat,_ by the strictest of measures: their vessel, the _Flamboyance,_ is equipped with dual engines for cruising the warm, tranquil water. But it still had long sheets of cloth folded over the rails, with a tall mast reaching up towards the sky. 

It feels like _freedom._

The ship is a glorious thing to behold: all smooth, flowing and pearlescent surfaces, slicing easily through the rugged waves. The sails are bright-white and crisp; the cabin is cooled and equipped with a refresher and icebox; the bow is spacious, with several resting places and hammocks for guests to recline. It must have cost a _mountain_ of credits to actually purchase ( _or make)_ a luxury vessel like this _,_ and so renting it out for the morning suits Kallus just fine. He has a hard time picturing what a life must be like, where one has their own chartered boat every day, complete with the service of captain and crew. He isn’t sure that anyone needs that kind of pampering on the daily--but for a _vacation?_ He is relishing the flavor. 

“Attention, lovebirds,” the ship’s captain calls smoothly from the deck above. “We are approaching a favorite local destination: Bottlenose Bay. Are the two of you feeling up for a swim?”

 _Silly question,_ Kallus thinks, grinning with amusement at the way Zeb’s ears twitch excitedly. _Yes, of course the Lasat is._ It’s been taking Zeb a great deal of strength and restraint to hold himself from throwing his body into the glittering, turquoise waves rolling off the front of the ship. 

“Yeah!” Zeb bellows back, waving one hand at the captain. “Yeah, we’d like that! Take us there!” 

Kallus shakes his head, reclining back into the weave of the comfortable hammock. _Sure. Whatever Zeb wants._ Earlier, he’d been sitting on the edge of the fabric, eyes stuck upon the horizon as they’d drifted past golden beaches and tropical mountains. Then, after becoming more comfortable with their trip, he’d allowed himself to relax and simply enjoy the swaying motion of his body suspended in the warm breeze. He’d nearly been _sleeping_ until Zeb’s call had awakened him, and he was looking forward to getting back to the prospect. 

“ _Al,”_ Zeb says urgently, peering over the hammock. “Al, you’ve gotta check this out!” 

Kallus yawns. “Mmm, later, Zeb.” He stretches his arms high above his head. “I’m comfortable here. I’ll join you when we arrive at the beach.”

“Er, that’s the thing…” Zeb’s ears rotate back. “You, uh, you oughta see this…” Kallus’ brows draw together. “Well, fine!” Zeb huffs. “Suit yerself.” 

He storms off. Kallus rolls his eyes. He decides that Zeb is probably right though, and that he better start waking up if they are getting close. Kallus groans, drawing off his polarized sunglasses and stretching his frame. Today, he’d chosen to wear a pair of the swimming trunks that Zeb had picked out for him--brightly-striped, _neon_ monstrosities--along with a loose-fitting, unbuttoned shirt. It was so unlike hi to wear anything this casual; it was _liberating._ Dressing that morning, Kallus had been briefly reminded briefly of how good it had first felt to strip off his Imperial armor and to change into the comfortable clothes of the Rebellion. 

That feeling slides away as he rises and sees the figures upon the shoreline. 

Colorful figures are walking here and there. There is a broad variety of species--some human, some alien--and many appear to be romantic couples. The people couples span a broad variety of races and genders, and range from number of partners to sexual orientations. Some of them hold hands while they walk through the clear, thigh-high, glittering waters; others sip drinks as they lounge upon towels and soak up the sun.

 _All_ of them are naked. 

For the second time that morning, Kallus turns to look over at his friend with panic. _Garazeb?!_ He asks with his eyes, praying that his burgeoning sunburn is masking his blush. _Did you plan this?_ It’s not that the idea of stripping down to his skin bothers him--Kallus has been required to do far worse in the army--it’s _who_ he is stripping down _with._

For his part, the Lasat looks just as surprised as Kallus. A bit more amused at the subject, perhaps; but not like he’s been planning this all along. 

“Well, _darlin’_ ” Zeb says, drawing out the word. “What are we waitin’ for? Captain’ says that this is one of the very best spots on the island. Would _hate_ to miss out on that opportunity.” 

A toothy, impish smile stretches across his face. His green eyes are dancing. 

_You’re mocking me,_ Kallus thinks, blushing as Zeb smirks at him. _You_ **_know_ ** _what you do to me, and you’re enjoying this_ **_far_ ** _too much!_ But no matter his suspicions on the matter, Kallus will _not_ give his friend that kind of satisfaction. If anything, Alexsandr Kallus is _competitive._ If it’s a battle of silent wills that Garazeb wants, it’s a battle he’ll get.

 _So you want to bluff?_ He reaches for the collar of his shirt. _Fine then. I’ll call that bluff._

“Of course, dear,” he replies smoothly. Slipping into one of his work personas-- _seduction--_ as easily as he slips out of his shirt, Kallus turns the situation into a performance. “Just help me with the sunscreen in some of the harder-to-reach places? It would be a _real_ shame to burn up before our massage.” 

Zeb’s face does something funny. _Got ‘em,_ Kallus crows internally. But then, just as quickly, the Lasat has recovered; and he is sinking into a cocky, flirtatious smirk of his own. 

“ _Love_ to,” he replies, echoing Kallus’ tone. “Bring that pretty skin over here, then.” 

_Foolish!_ Kallus scolds himself as he strides over towards Zeb, shaking his long hair out of the bun. _Don’t pick fights you can’t win. You_ **_know_ ** _that Garazeb Orrelios is stronger than you._ And yet, Kallus commits to the persona: he comes to rest between Zeb’s parted thighs, hands resting upon the tight-fitting fabric of his bathing shorts. 

“ _That’s_ it,” Zeb purrs. 

Kallus struggles not to close his eyes and release the pent-up, shuddering sigh as Zeb hooks his fingers over the band at his waist, shifting the bathing trunks back and forth down his hips.

“Where should we get started, then? On the front? Or the _back?...”_ One clawed, _thick_ finger strokes dangerously low. It ghosts over the newly-revealed cleft of his ass, tugging the bathing down even father. 

Unable to restrain his full-body shudder, Kallus wonders whether his nerve--or his _mind--_ is going to give out first. 

* * *

The feeling of Garazeb’s hands smoothing sunscreen over his skin--and the way that the Lasat had looked, glistening and naked under the light of the sun--makes Kallus _groan_ under the touch of the massage therapist. 

“There? A good spot?” she asks softly. 

Kallus nods weakly. He drops his sweating forehead back unto the crescent-moon shaped pillow resting beneath his jaw, exhaling at the pressure of her touch. 

“ _Good,”_ the masseuse affirms. She begins kneading both hands into the tight knots of Kallus’ upper back. “We’re going to unleash that tension yet.” 

_What a mercy that would be!_ Kallus thinks dryly to himself. Rock-hard and shivering against the massage table, all he can think of is the man lying next to him, and how he’d floated carelessly upon the waves, every _inch_ of his lovely form on powerful display. Kallus had survived their afternoon (and picnic lunch) on the nude beach, but he _wasn’t_ faring as well during the present massage. Perhaps, it is because it’s been so long since anybody has touched him; perhaps, it’s because of the way that he can still _smell_ the rich, musky aroma of wet Lasat fur, spicy and earthy where Zeb lies on the opposite table. 

_But it isn’t_ **_all_ ** _bad,_ Kallus reminds himself. _You’ve loved it so far._ And, indeed, this is true: their late afternoon at the spa has been everything that a love-drunk couple could dream. After returning salt-crusted and wind-swept from their sailing, it had felt _heavenly_ to don the fluffy robes of the spa and to soak their feet in their baths of steaming, aromatic oils. Kallus had opted for a full pedi-mani; Zeb had simply gone for the pedicure, groaning as the masseuse scrubbed between his long toes. _(Kallus had a hard time deciding what he’d liked best: the sounds Zeb was making, or the silky-smooth way that his hands felt afterward)._ After that portion of their day, Kallus and Zeb had been led to a private, steaming-hot bath in the spa area, where they’d been instructed to wrap cloudlike towels around their waists, and to scrub head to toe with sweet-smelling potions. Thoroughly cleaned and polished, they’d been guided beachside for their massage: oceanside, candle-lit, to the sound of the waves. 

If Kallus wasn’t so goddamn _aroused,_ it would have been _perfect._

But the fact of it was that his performance of ‘seductive Kallus’ had only heightened the intensity of their actions--and made his affection that much harder to control. Stripped down on the beach, Kallus _knows_ that his pale, freckled skin had given himself away; it _must_ have revealed his attraction to Zeb, as even the quickest look or the gentlest touch was enough to set him off like a beacon. Good as he ever was, Zeb had played up his part in equal measure: kissing Kallus’ forehead with words of endearment, ever touching his shoulder or holding his hand. 

Kallus groans softly again at the thought of Zeb’s eyes--bright green and cheerful--roaming over his naked body, exploring what the human male had to offer. 

“Is the pressure too hard?” the therapist asks. She is a sunshine-yellow Nautilan, with her many head-tendrils pulled up into an elegant knot. “Would you like for me to be gentler?” 

From the table next to them, Zeb gives a snort. Kallus flushes, knowing what kind of words his friend would tease him with if he wasn’t also face-down on the table. 

“N-no, it’s good,” Kallus replies in a strained voice. _Kriff. Keep it together._ “Really good, actually. I wonder...can you…” he lifts his head, matching eyes with the woman. “Can you possibly pay some extra attention to my left leg? I injured it, and I think it would feel--” 

Gentle, expert hands sink into the muscle of his calf, and Kallus gasps out. 

“--f-feel _great,”_ he moans, sinking back into the table. 

It’s _blissful._ For several minutes--hours--days?--Kallus drifts away, falling into the healing sensation of his old wound being tended. Yes, he’d done some physical therapy here and there; but he’s never indulged in the suggestion of a _massage_ . But now, he sees _why_ so many of his doctors had recommended it: when the masseuse presses into the tightest-held tension point his leg, it is as though all of the _heaviness_ and _pain_ that he’s been carrying is being unraveled, layer by layer. Practically _melting_ into the sheets of the table, Kallus allows everything else to fade away--the mission, the angst, the need to avoid his feelings for Garazeb.

Instead, all he hears is the hushing whisper of the ocean; all he smells is the grounding, spicy-sweet aroma of the room; all he feels is the expert, safe touch of the therapist. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the sound of Zeb’s voice suddenly wakes him. 

“Gggrrrr…ha-hah….ggggrrrrmm _mmnnnn_ ….”

Feeling groggy and warm, Kallus’ attention begins to sharpen. Zeb sounds... _stressed._ Almost as though he is in _pain._ But not a bad pain, perhaps? 

"Ggg _rrrrrrrrrrrr...."_

The sound rumbles through the room again, and he hears the massage therapist whisper in a soothing voice, “ _Easy,_ big guy. That’s it. Take a deep breath.” 

Although his mind is sluggish, it occurs to Kallus that this is not typically what one might say to another under most circumstances. With a soft grunt, he moves his head to the side, trying to get his bleary eyes to work alongside his fuzzy brain. _I shouldn’t be making a habit of this,_ Kallus thinks, finding himself past the point of rational thought or memory for the second time today. _Really shouldn’t be losing my focus during a mission._ Something about the word _mission_ sharpens his attention, helping him to focus upon the other table. 

He wonders if, maybe, he shouldn’t have just stayed asleep. 

The first thing he notices is that Zeb is _trembling--_ from the raised, curving arch of his spine to the minute, jolting thrusts of his hips. The second is that he is _panting--_ heavily, as though he has just sprinted a race. 

"Mmmm....mmmnn, grrrrnnnn...." 

Kallus feels his languid, resting body transition from limp to rock-hard within _seconds._

 _“Shhh,”_ the massage therapist says. The human woman does not look uncomfortable; in fact, she looks poised, as though she has experienced such fits of arousal in her line of work many times. In her hands is a thick, nub-headed brush; on the table are a series of hot towels, used to wipe down and sweep away any loose fur. “That’s right, dear. You’re just fine.” 

If Kallus had not just had every _ounce_ of his willpower wrung from his limbs, he would have leapt from the table and sprinted away. _Garazeb._ **_Stars._ ** _I think that--he might--_ The Lasat’s claws are fully extended, hooked deeply into the foam of the mattress. At some point he must have unsheathed them, digging them into the table for a better grip. Kalllus watches Zeb knead his hands into the mattress, searching for something outside of his grasp. 

_“Breathe,”_ the massage therapist instructs Zeb calmly. 

And--unable to look away, but feeling as though he _should_ \--Kallus watches Zeb’s body grow rigid and still with his orgasm. 

Wide-eyed, he does not look away as his friend's hips gradually slow; nor as he _groans,_ sinking heavily down upon the table. Kallus’ searching, terrified gaze is anchored to the spot as the therapist makes another soft, soothing noise, running her hand down his trembling spine with the heel of her palm. He wishes that he could have seen _more (_ what had been going on beneath those blankets); he wishes that he could have seen _less._

_How. How am I supposed to survive this? How am I supposed to go forward from here?_

Zeb--who does not seem to be aware that Kallus is awake--makes a drained, embarrassed chuckle from the table.

“M’sorry, ma'am. _Karabast!_ It’s...it’s been a hot minute. _Dammit._ ” 

At the sound of Zeb’s voice, Kallus snaps his eyes shut. His cheeks burn with guilt and awkwardness as he hears her calm, professional reply: “Thank you, I appreciate that. And also, please know that it happens here with us all the time…particularly, when we have Imperials.”

Kallus’ massage therapist, who has been going about her business of tucking him in and pacing heated towels the whole time, pauses to whisper quietly in his own ear. “And, _particularly_ , with pelts that haven’t been _brushed_ in a while.” 

Flushing with embarrassment, Kallus blinks at her questioningly. She smiles, tucking a loose tentacle tentacle behind her headband.

“May I be frank with you? Try brushing your Lasat more often. It works for us, anyway--me, and my Wookiee. Yes, it _is_ their responsibility to care for themselves and their needs. But _also..."_ she winks at him mischievously, “...a good brushing seems to work _miracles_ between partners. You know?” 

Mute, Kallus _stares._ He does _not_ know. He _wants_ to. Listening to the sighing sounds of the ocean, and the rumbling sounds of Zeb's snore, Kallus imagines how such a brush look held when held within his own hands. How Garazeb Orrelios might _sound,_ twitching with pleasure beneath his _own_ hands...

Smiling, the therapist gestures back towards the spa building.

"Give yourselves a few minutes to cool down, alright? Then, you can head for the steam showers. Take your time; we’ll get them up and running for you so that they’re ready to go when you are.” 

Watching her depart--and listening to Garazeb _snore--_ Alexsandr Kallus wonders if he will _ever_ be able to move from the spot where he’s rooted again.

 _Surely not,_ if he wants to walk with _these_ trembling legs. 

_Not a chance._

_Nope._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my disclaimer that it's NOT COOL to actually orgasm during your real-life massage therapy session unless a) it's actually some kind of role-play at home with a partner or two, and b) you've both agreed to those terms beforehand. This is a work of sexy alien fiction, and I do NOT recommend trying this at work or otherwise unless it's mutual and planned. Cheers, friends! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody gets off. Kallus feels guilty. The boys find their mark.

* * *

FIVE

* * *

Lying on his back in the enormous bed, sheets tangled around his bare feet and thoughts tangled around his racing mind, Alexsandr Kallus lies awake and _wanting._

The romantic dinner on their first night? Embarrassing, but survivable. The private sailship and afternoon swimming at the naked beach? Intimate, quite hard to forget, but still:survivable. But seeing his friend come to climax against the massage table, while hearing each and every exquisite sound? That was pushing it close to his limit. And what had happened afterward, in the steam shower...

Kallus groans, throwing an arm over his sweating forehead. 

If Garazeb Orrelios was not sharing this bed with him right now, in this very honeymoon suite, he would take himself in-hand and chase after that sweet, promised relief. But that was not what Zeb wanted from their relationship; and it was _certainly_ not the way that he’d been assigned to this mission. Not that he’d felt particularly _professional_ as they’d stumped back from their evening at the spa, stretching and yawning, falling immediately into bed. 

_Twenty minutes after their massage (and Kallus’ unexpected encounter with Zeb's libido), the two under-cover Rebels are led to the spa’s private steam showers._

_Kallus shuffles, limp-limbed and starry-eyed, across the sandy floor. He cannot remember a time that he has ever felt this good in his body: even the most painful injuries (including Thrawn’s torture, and his broken leg on Bahryn) are muffled in the quiet, soft stillness of the post-massage moments. Even his lips feel numbed and loose as he pads into the 'fresher, and he relishes the easy silence between himself and his friend._

_Garazeb Orrelios looks quite content, too. The Lasat had eventually been roused from his heavy slumber by one of the massage therapists, who had handed him the thick-handled brush (the one that was responsible for doing so much psychological damage to Kallus) and had instructed him to commence brushing himself again regularly. With heavy-hooded eyes to only a slit of glittering green, Zeb had agreed, and then plodded after Kallus to the cleansing area._

_Like the rest of the spa, the steam showers are decadent. A series of private lockers await for shoes and other personal effects, where guests might exchange their massage bathrobes for fluffy, cloud-white towels to wrap around their waists. The steam shower itself is built into the wall, an architectural masterpiece of wooden beams, gold, and swirling stone. When Kallus gazes in, he cannot see any farther past the tip of his nose. Tiny droplets of water cling to the thin pane of the transpiristeel door, and wet the handle that is warm beneath his hand._

_He pulls, and the door swings open, a swirling of humid, hot whiteness pouring out to meet them._

_“Mmmmmm,” Zeb purrs. The sound of his gravelly voice makes Kallus shiver, despite the heat. “Feels **good**.” _

_Grateful that his body is already sweating in response to the steam showers, Kallus just nods. It occurs to him that the sounds Zeb is making are far too similar to like those hefty, pleasure-filled grunts approaching his orgasm on the table earlier. He gulps, and feels sweat slide from the side of his temple and down to his jawline._

_“Yeah. It’ll be just the thing,” he agrees. For some reason, he is whispering._

_Keeping his towel wrapped firmly around his hips, Alexsandr Kallus steps into the fog._

_Immediately, a thick, wet heat engulfs him. It is not unpleasant. The room has a faint scent of woodsmoke, and he can practically taste the way that the hot rocks have been burning off moisture for the previous hour in preparation for them. Licking the salt of sweat off his lips, he tentatively proceeds into the room. Kallus' feet shuffle over the soft, wooden floor._

_It creaks loudly as the Lasat enters the steam shower behind him._

_“How are you suppos’ta see in here?” Garazeb chuckles. It’s like being caught up in a cloud!"_

_Kallus starts; he is standing very_ _close to his back, and the heat of his breath feels like a scorching fire in the already sweltering room._ _He shudders, rubbing at the sweat and pinpricked hairs that have risen to standing upon his arms._

_“Must not be the main objective,” he replies softly._

_He takes a step farther into the room, hoping to create space between himself and the radiant heat of his partner. When the door closes behind them, he reaches out his arms, searching for a bench or handhold. His_ _fingertips brush against the softened, moisture-dripping logs of the walls, and he follows them down to a seated area._

_Zeb's searching fingers brush against the bare, sensitized skin of his back._

_“T-there’s benches all along the wall, Zeb," Kallus gasps._

_“Thanks!” Zeb replies cheerfully._

_He hears the Lasat settle himself down against one part of the creaking bench, and release a fitful, contented sigh. Choosing to ignore the way that those noises stir molten heat within his own belly, Kallus sinks down on the bench himself. He keeps his arms drawn across his heart, and his knees pulled tightly up towards his chest, as he listens to the sound of dripping water and gushing steam pipes._

_Gradually, he feels his body relax. In the silence, the hot stones sputter with moisture, releasing streams of heat into the foggy shower. The hot, clinging inhales become more comfortable and less stifling, and soon, his body remembers the easy looseness of the massage, and he unfolds himself on the bench. Allowing his arms and legs to spread wide, Kallus sighs into the privacy of the shower, allowing each lungful to ease the tension within him._ _Somehow, after a time, it feels as though every bit of dirt and grime is seeping out from his pores, both on the surface-level of his skin. He feels deeply cleansed._

_Kallus has almost fallen asleep again--head tipped back against the wall, relishing the way that sweat runs down his jaw and over his chest--when he hears the hum of Zeb's voice rumbling through the fog._

_“M’sorry."_

_Kallus cracks open one, lazy eye. Of course, it doesn’t do much: he can only just **faintly** see Garazeb’s outline through the white fog. But from what he can see, the other man seems to be sitting with his shoulders and head bowed, ears titled back and chin towards the floor. A look of regret, maybe even remorse. _

_Kallus opens his other eye._

_“Mmm?”_

_“I’m sorry," Zeb says again. "For what happened back there."_

_Kallus gulps, feeling sweat sliding down his neck and back. His heart thunders to life within his chest, but he works to breathe calmly and channel the quietness of the steam showers. It's probably a good thing, that his friend cannot see him: the look of surprise, embarrassment, alarm--but most of all, desire--written across his face. In the heavy fog, he can pretend._

_"I'm not sure what you mean," he replies._

_Across the distance between them, Zeb chuckles._ _The sound of his breath drawing from his fanged mouth fills Kallus' head with images. Many of them involve the way that the Lasat had thrust against the table, powerful hips craving friction that he couldn't get._

_“For making things awkward," his friend continues. “I know we're best friends, but I'm not stupid, Kal. I know...I know that when I get goin', it's quite a noise. I'm no withering daisy."_

_Kallus gulps. (Okay, we're doing this.)_

_"I probably pissed you off. Probably wrecked yer massage, what with all of my growlin'."_

_Kallus licks at his lips. (Yes, wrecked **is** a word that he'd use to describe the encounter. But, perhaps, not in the self-defeating way Zeb is using right now. Perhaps, more in a way of wanting...of opening himself up to that pressure...) _

_"It's alright, Zeb." he manages. If he hadn't been wrung tip-to-toe from the recent massage, he'd probably be a big knot of nerves. But, as it is, his body is limp; his face is obscured; and he is protected, if only by the thick veil of steam. "You didn't wreck anything. At all."_

_Zeb's sigh of relief is palpable. Kallus things that they might be done, but then the Lasat continues._

_“It felt so_ ** _good,_** _Al!_ ** _Kriffing_** _good, bein’ brushed down like that.”_

_“O-Oh?”_

_Kallus can only handle so much of this. He tries to be a good friend. He tries not to sound shaky in his response. He tries not to reach down and touch himself, stroke at his leaking erection, groan aloud at the memory of Zeb's pleasure upon the table._

_“Yeah,” Zeb replies heavily. "It’s been, like I said. It's. Been a long time."_

_Kallus' heart is pounding in his throat (and his dick). If he wasn't certain that they were just friends, here together on an under-cover mission, he could imagine such words as an invitation. Could imagine himself and the words that he would respond with; how he'd offer to do such a thing, willingly, for the other man anytime. On his knees, on his back, with his mouth--_

_“--Anyway,” Zeb continues,“I hate to make things awkward between us. Yer my best friend. I don't wanna. Don't wanna jeopardize that."_

_And: there it is._ _Kallus passes a hand over his moistened eyes, wiping away the dripping beadlets of water clinging to his lashes. There it is: that space between them. That reality. No: they are_ ** _not_ ** _here as a real couple. No, Zeb is **not** his. They are _ _not_ _attending this retreat as a pair of clandestine lovers, seeking time to rest in one another’s embrace; they are a pair of rebels, on a mission. Garazeb Orrelios is nothing_ _more than his mission partner; or, as he says, his best friend. S_ _o he must honor that._

_“Don’t worry,” Kallus assures him, feeling as though his voice might break. “Y-you didn’t make things awkward. You're not going to lose my friendship. Things...things are just fine, between us." he swallows, tasting woodsmoke and regret. "We're fine. It's fine."_

_He wishes that he wasn't lying._

_The next silence between them is long and uncomfortable. With every breath, Kallus fights back the impending anxiety._ _His fingertips twitch, and his mind races through various, different scenarios--ones in which he might have told Garazeb something different, but each even more ill-fitting than the last._ _(“No, Zeb, it’s fine! You can jerk off in front of me anytime! That’s what friends are for, right?” or perhaps “No Zeb, it’s all good. We’re bros! Bros get boners! In fact, I had one too, now that you mention it. Are you usually that loud when you get off?” but certainly not, under any circumstances: “Kriff, Zeb! Of_ **_course_ ** _you made it awkward! That was so, unbearably erotic! And I’ve been dying for you to fuck me for_ **_ages._ ** _Please, dear stars,_ **_take_ ** _me. I want to make you make more sounds like that. I want to touch you. In ways that you've never been touched. I want--)_

_His internal monologue is interrupted by the sound of Zeb’s breathy chuckle._

_"Listen..." Zeb says._

_Kallus snaps to attention. Zeb's voice is tense and tight once again. Heavy breathing, a rumbling growl just beneath the surface. In that way as though he's been sparring, or working out. Or thrusting against a massage table, claws driven into the mattress, only seconds away from reaching the peak of his orgasm._

_"...Listen, I..."_

_Through the fog of the shower, Kallus can see the hazy outline of Zeb’s muscular body. He is curved slightly inward upon himself, with the shadow of one arm reaching down and between his parted, strong legs. He appears to be working at something. Something massive, and growing, and producing sickened, sloppy-wet sounds._

_"...If it's actually alright...if ya truly don't mind..."_

_Kallus cannot look away. He can scarcely **breath**. _

_"...We're not gonna have much privacy, here, in these next coupla' days. N'fact, this might be the only time that we get to ourselves for a while. And I didn't really...I didn't get to finish."_

_Oh, **Karabast.**_

_"So, if s'really not a bother...if ya really don't mind, and don't think it's awkward..."_

_Kallus is riveted to the spot. He is clinging to every tense, breathy word that Zeb as making, as though he is speaking the most important words of his life. He is listening to the low, gravely tone, and feeling the way that it stirs fire within his belly. He is hearing the slick, squelching sounds of his friend--his friend working his hands over what must surely be his own cock--as he once again approaches the edge._

_"M'gonna. Touch myself."_

_**STARS.** _

_Once again, he is glad for the fog that obscures them. He is glad for the way that Zeb cannot see his own fingernails digging into the softness of the wooden bench, or how his own flushed, standing erection is leaking. ((Who asks this of their friend?! No, really, who in the galaxy asks their best friend this kind of question? Can't you just be like the rest of us, and dishonestly, covertly jerk off in the corner, without the other person knowing what is happening? Why do you have to be--" Kallus own hands begin to stroke-- "honorable?))_

_"S-sure, Zeb,” he hears himself replying, breathless. “N-not at all.”_

_“Mmmhhmmm. Thankss…”_

_Which is how he’d found himself--trembling with desire, squinting through the fog for a glimpse, desperate for release--while he listened to the hot, wet sounds of his friend jerking off. With his knowledge. Of him thrusting into his open, slicked hand, huffing through heavy and growling exhales. Of him moaning and grating his claws against the wood, drawing closer and closer to climax._

_Of him spilling out on to the floor, gushing with droplets that sounded like waves._

Only when Kallus hears himself gasping aloud does he realize that he’s been urgently fist-fucking himself. 

“Karab--shit, _shit!”_

There’s nothing for it: unable to stop the burning swell of his orgasm, he finds himself spilling into his hand. Hot and steaming, the sheer intensity of his release soaks the inside of his tented boxers, spurts past the waistband drawn over his heaving stomach, speckling the sheets of the shared bed around them. Leaving evidence of his desire soaking into the blankets. 

“ _Karabast,”_ Kallus whimpers. 

He falls weakly back against the pillows, gasping for air.

Every one of his nerves feels bright and alive; every place where his senses touch the world around him is a sharp, urgent reminder that he’s in bed with his best friend, and that he’s shamelessly just jerked himself off to the memory of the other man. It had not been enough to hold himself back in the steam showers, nor to bite down on his lip in the cold 'fresher after; he'd _had_ to seek his own release. No matter how much he didn't want to reveal himself, or his unrequited and pathetic crush. 

So shameless, perhaps, is not the right word.

Grasping a fresh pair of shorts, Kallus crawls out of bed and slinks to the refresher. He cannot shake the feeling that he has somehow failed Zeb. 

* * *

They are seated at the poolside bar sipping on tropical drinks when Zeb finally makes the signal he’s been watching and waiting for. 

“ _T_ _hat’s_ our mark,” the Lasat murmurs quietly. 

Kallus peeks over the top of his dark sunglasses.

On the opposite side of the pool, a broad, thick-shouldered human male is walking past with an arm around a pink Twi’lek woman. Both are wearing minimalistic swimsuits and sporting the cheerful, sun-kissed tan of a couple who have spent several days on the sand. Around the human’s thick neck glitters a linked, golden chain that sparkles impressively in the sunlight. The woman’s bright skin is covered with swirling tattoos in the open-circle camouflage of a leopard. They make for an unmistakable pair. 

“You sure?” he asks quietly. 

Kallus sips on his chilled drink. It’s a colada of some kind, bursting with the sweet flavors of local fruits--pineapple, banana, coconut, meiloorun--and all topped off with some freshly-grated nutmeg. And floated with spiced _rum,_ of course. It had been a long and relaxing morning: the pair of them ( _well, Kallus only_ _pretending)_ rising late in the morning, walking down to the barefoot restaurant for some breakfast and watching the seabirds upon the air. Zeb had suggested that they lie low today, which suited Kallus just fine. He had to recover from their 'relaxing' day yesterday, and particularly, from his discomfort last night. 

“ _Definitely,”_ Zeb replies firmly. “The necklace makes him unmistakable. Our paperwork says that he never takes it off, on account of his rank bars being built right into it.” 

He finishes tossing back the last of his golden, lime-adorned beer, motioning the bartender for another. Sea breeze ripples through his short, striped fur, ruffling the longer threads near his jawline and chest. He looks rather _stunning,_ Kallus things to himself--then follows it with a rush of shame. _No. You remember what happened. Don't take this a step further._

“Huh,” he replies. Kallus ponders this, watching the mark slather sunscreen upon his girlfriend’s shoulders. He looks carefree and cheerful, like somebody's playful uncle. “Wonder if that’s out of caution, or arrogance.” 

Zeb shrugs. “Bit of both, I suspect. Either way, he’s our guy. Once we figure out where their room is, we can give it a search. That data stick will be in there, and we’ll be able to recover exactly what the Alliance needs.” 

“ _Right,”_ Kallus sighs. Given the sun-soaked _(and steam-filled)_ events of the past two days, he’d almost forgotten about what their true mission was. “Then it’s back to Rebel Base.” 

His friend turns and looks at him, eyebrows raised. Kallus blushes; something about his tone must have revealed his reluctance to leave this time and place with Garazeb. Even though lying next to the Lasat of his dreams every night has been _torture_ on several levels, Alexsandr Kallus has been drinking up every moment with thirst. How often does he get to see his friend like this--totally relaxed, shirt open and breezy, his powerful musculature on display? How often do they get to simply sit back like this--simply enjoying one another’s company, drinking and chatting their way through the day? It’s practically been like some sort of dreamy, romantic holo, and Kallus is not at all ready to get _‘back to normal’._

Now that he knows what Zeb looks like--Zeb _sounds_ like--he’s not sure that he _can._

“Ah, don’t worry bud,” Zeb replies fondly. His raises one massive paw and thumps Kallus on the back. “We won’t rush right outta here. Draven made the mistake of giving us an extra day, in case we couldn’t accomplish it all by the third; and I intend to make the _best_ of this.” 

Kallus smiles back at him, but doesnt’ feel it all the way to his eyes. Even _if_ he gets one extra day of luxury with Zeb tomorrow, it ultimately doesn’t change anything between them. They are, as he knows, under cover: playing parts in a _facade_ to distract the enemy, and presented as an alternative to reality. He and Zeb, they _aren’t_ a couple. They are just...friends. If he’s lucky, the best of them. 

The other man’s expression softens, and he takes off his sunglasses. Kallus feels something airy stir in his belly as Zeb’s gentle expression searches over him, green eyes gazing steady and curious. 

“You okay, Al?” he asks, voice filled with tender concern. “Ya seem a little…” 

What he is exactly, Kallus doesn’t find out. A leaping child splashes them with a sudden, explosive spray of pool water. Zeb roars with laughter, wiping his eyes and shaking the water from his face and ears. Kallus just sits there for a moment, stunned, soaking in his now-clinging shirt and swim trunks. 

“Easy, there!” Zeb calls good-naturedly to the child. He turns to Kallus, tugging at his sodden shirt with the hand still upon his shoulder. “Aw, Al, yer all wet. Why don’t ya just take this off?”

The Lasat shifts his hand to Kallus’ chest so that he can assist with unbuttoning. “We’re at the beach, after all.” 

Kallus blushes faintly. However, he nods his head, and allows Zeb to work his way down the opening shirt. With the other man’s help, he strips away the soaking bit of cloth, and tosses it with a wet slap to the side. 

Zeb smiles. “Ya know, you don’t have to be so shy and modest all the time.” His gaze wanders up and down Kallus’ bared upper body. “Yer a very handsome-lookin’ man.” 

This time, Kallus is sure that he blushes all the way up to the roots of his hair. Unable to answer Zeb, he looks away, squinting into the sunlight. His heart thunders within his chest. Somehow, this acknowledgement of what they are doing feels _more_ exposed than while they were on the naked beach together. 

“Thanks, Zeb.” He cannot bear to make eye-contact. 

Zeb hums with agreement, and they settle into companionable silence. Gradually, Kallus feels his racing heart begin to reside, and his breaths come to him more naturally. After sitting several minutes in warm, relaxed company, he begins to notice more of what is going on around him: babble and splashing of children; the murmur of couples; the clink of glasses upon stone benches and tables, and the bubbling sound of an emptying straw. Kallus exhales, allowing the tension to melt from his body as he listens to the rhythmic sigh of waves upon shore, the tide drawing in and out on the sand. He can _feel_ his anxiety fading away, soaking into the sand and leaving him contented and drowsy. 

“You feel like gettin’ ourselves an umbrella and lounging down by the oceanside?” Kallus opens an eye. He sees Garazeb Orrelios reclining against the bar, looking for all the world like a lazy vacationer, but with his eyes and ears fixed keenly on the mark headed down towards the beach. “I think I fancy a nap in the sunshine.” 

With a nod, Kallus places his empty colada cup on the counter. 

“A lovely idea.” 

Taking their time, holding hands and kicking up sand, they trail after the Imperials. 

* * *

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys do some investigating. Kallus is caught by surprise more than once.

* * *

SIX

* * *

The room smells of sex, obviously _._

Kallus and Zeb move quickly and quietly about the suite, snapping holos and gingerly turning objects to inspect for traces of the stolen data stick. The room is much like their own--decadent, grand, and featuring only one bed--but it does not have their beautiful, sunk-in jacuzzi, nor the perfect, oceanside view of their loft. 

_(Privately, Kallus smothers that little flicker of familiar satisfaction at ‘winning’ an unspoken competition. Yes, he has become a better man for joining the Rebels; but he cannot say that his former ambition is lacking. Sometimes, it just feels good to come out on top)._

“Did ya find it?” Zeb asks, voice hushed from its usual, booming tenor. “Yer smilin’.” 

Shaking his head, Kallus waves him away. 

He’s wearing gloves, something that likely looks strange when paired with his casual, beachside attire, but he doesn’t want to leave any traces of their visit. The goal is to recover the data; and, hopefully, the Imps wouldn’t even know that they’d even been inside there and found it. 

“Nah,” he whispers in reply. “Keep searching. We don’t have much time left.” 

Zeb grunts in confirmation. Hovering over the doorway, a blue holo projection counts down to their departure. The Imperial couple, whom Kallus had discovered were named “Corbin Hriss” _(the mark)_ and “Tserena Ly’alla” ( _his date),_ would be out at their romantic dinner for at least an hour or more, but they ought not cut their time close. The sooner that they find the data stick and depart from this wing of the hotel, the better. 

After all, it would be difficult to explain what they were doing here--sorting through lacy underwear and flipping open the flimsy pages of books--if they were caught. 

Not without drawing blasters, anyway. 

“Hold on…” Zeb’s voice comes excitedly from the corner of the room, “...think I found somethin’!” 

Kallus looks up from where he is sorting toiletries. Snapping the cap back on the eyeshadow, he hustles across the room to his partner. Zeb is crouched over the small bedside table, looking at the contents of the drawer beneath the lamp. 

“What is it? What did you find?” he asks in a hushed whisper. The Lasat grins and holds up his hand. Between his clawed thumb and forefinger, there is a tiny packet of rubbers. Kallus groans, rolling his eyes and looking skyward. “Yes, Garazeb. Congratulations. You’ve got the maturity of _Ezra Bridger.”_

Zeb snorts with quiet, suppressed laughter, dropping the packet of flavored variety condoms back into the drawer. He slides the draw closed with the gentle shove of his knuckles, ears twitching with amusement. 

“At least we know that they’re not idiots,” Zeb laughs. “How _do_ the straights do it?” 

Kallus is about to snap off a reply when he realizes what exactly his best friend had just said. Zeb seems to realize this a moment later as well, and the smile freezes on his face, ears flicking this time in alarm. He blinks at Kallus, who stares back at him. 

“Oh, _c’mon,”_ Zeb says, exasperated. “Don’t tell me that yer _not--”_

The sound of voices and footsteps coming down the hall make the pair of them freeze.

Wherever that conversation was going, Zeb would have to return to it later. Because the voices coming their way are not of just any _random_ residents; they are the tones that they’d recorded earlier (and come to know as) their marks, Tserena and Corbin. 

The Lasat’s eyes grow wide with alarm. 

_“Karabast,”_ Zeb hisses. “Kallus, I thought that ya said that they’d be gone for two hours?!” 

Even in the tenseness of the moment, Kallus spares a second to throw his mission partner a dirty look. _We planned this together, thank you,_ that look says. However, not wanting to waste time, he rises and pulls the other man behind him. 

“Quick!” he breathes, “We’ve got to get out of here.” 

Kallus’ gaze sweeps around the room, falling upon the opened closet _(not big enough),_ the tiny refresher _(coated with clear transpiristeel),_ and the Emperor’s-sized bed _(not tall enough for either of them to crouch beneath)._ Eyes falling upon the door, he hears the sound of voices just outside of the room. He grits his teeth. 

“Zeb,” Kallus asks, “do you think you can climb out the window?” 

Just as the Lasat leans forward and commands him, urgently, _“Kiss me!”_

“W- _what?!”_

Kallus only has a moment to goggle, wide-eyed, before Zeb surges forward and into his space. The Lasat inserts one knee between his parted thights, rises Kallus up and holds him against the wall with just _one_ of his hands. Suspending him there, he shoves the length of his body against him, grinding against Kallus, and tearing at the waist of his pants. 

“ _Do you trust me?”_ Zeb pants urgently into his ear. 

“Y-yes!?” Kallus manages. His whole body is _shaking._

“ _Good._ Then just: _play along.”_

But it’s not theatrics when Kallus gasps as the other man’s tongue rasps against his neck. It’s hot, thick, and _wet,_ and it pushes against the thrumming, thrilled vein of his neck, just as the door of the suite hisses open. 

_“Aahh!_ ” Kallus moans; at precisely the same time that the couple _screams._

“WHAT is _this?!”_ Corbin declares, stepping quickly in front of his date. The pink Twi’lek has flushed to a scarlet red, and tears are bubbling at the corners of her lovely eyes. Whether those are tears of fright, surprise, or laughter, it is harder to say; her shoulders are slightly shaking, and she is covering one hand over her mouth. “ _Who--_ what exactly is--?!” 

Garazeb breaks from him, hands sliding down his sides.

Kallus is not feigning his embarrassment--nor his arousal--as the Imperial couple stares at the pair of them. Quite out of breath, he gazes up at his partner, who is panting. 

“Er, sorry ‘bout that!” Zeb laughs. His voice is back to that loud, booming cheerfulness that he always uses ( _and for the first time, Kallus wonders if_ **_that_ ** _is an act)._ “We were...you know, we just couldn’t...he’s my, and we’re…”

In an convincing act of awkward, love-struck embarrassment, Zeb shuffles from foot to foot nervously. 

“Get _out_ of our room!” the human demands. “Get out of here this _moment,_ or we will have you taken away by the authorities!” 

He does not seem amused. 

Held aloft by Zeb’s hand, Kallus quakes with shame and anxiety. Hand-to-hand combat, sure, _that_ he can handle; but whatever _this_ is?! For a moment, he recalls himself standing in Draven’s office, hearing the pronouncement that ‘ _Captain Orrelios is familiar with the art of seduction,’_ and his feeling relieved that somebody would be taking point on this mission. Of course, he hadn’t suspected it might go _this_ way, and couldn't have predicted what that might involve. 

Zeb's tactics seem to be working, however.

For some reason, where Corbin’s surprise has shifted into fury, Tserena’s eyes have taken on humor. The woman reaches out, gently placing her fingers around the man’s rigid biceps. “Dear,” she says, and it sounds playful, “Look, they’re just as desperate as we are. You _know_ that mistakes can happen, especially when we’ve all been waiting like this.” 

Kallus watches as Zeb’s ears flatten gratefully at the woman-- _excellent acting--_ as the Imperial deflates.

Straightening the collar of his shirt, he gives the woman a look of impatient affection. He touches her hand where it rests on his arm and sighs. “I’m not sure what this is,” their mark says with resignation, “but you’re quite lucky that my date is as hungry as you are.” Tserena giggles, and the smallest of smiles crosses his lips. “Leave our suite, please. And don’t show up where we’ll see you again.” 

Kallus can hardly believe their luck. He glances up at the Lasat, who is doing his best to look properly ashamed. 

“Sorry. _Thank you._ Sorry!” Silently shaking with laughter, Zeb gathers Kallus into his arms. He bows gratefully at the pair of them, and Kallus wrinkles his nose--the Lasat’s open shirt has forced his nose into his armpit, and he’s breathing in the most condensed smell of his musk. “We’ll get goin’! My sincerest apologies!" 

Still wide-eyed at the shock of the past few minutes, Kallus blinks at the woman.

She winks back at him, tilting her head down the length of the hall. Unlike the Imperial man, she seems to find the whole thing quite humorous. “There’s a supply closet just down the way,” she teases, pointing a rosy finger at a door hanging slightly ajar. “I’d commended it to you, rather than breaking into any more rooms.” 

Kallus flushes scarlet at the implications. Zeb purrs gratefully: “ _T_ _hanks!”_ and adds, “Yer awfully kind."

The Twi’lek woman tosses one lengthy, spotted lekku over her bare shoulder. 

“Don’t mention it,” she says easily. “We aliens with our Imps...it's a cruel world. Gotta look out for one another, right?” 

“Right,” Zeb replies with furvor. 

Kallus feels a surge of conflicting emotions as he watches the woman close the mark's door with a click. _Sure. Looking out for each other. As we break into your room, fleece you, and attempt to steal your belongings._ But Zeb, who is still holding him against his heaving chest, appears not to be so conflicted. Rather, he begins turning and walking away down the hallway purposefully, in the opposite direction than he'd expected. 

“ _Zeb?”_ he whispers. “Our room? It’s the _other_ way.” 

The Lasat shoots him a glance that tells him to remain silent. Kallus bites down on his lip, allowing himself to be bodily carried down the length of the hallway and towards the supply closet that their mark had pointed out.

It dawns on him then, when Zeb kicks the door open, that this must be further part of their plan. 

With a snap, the door shuts behind Zeb.

 _“That_ was close,” Kallus breathes in sigh of relief. “Nice thinking, Zeb.”

A hot, thick fingertip presses against Kallus’ mouth, quieting him. He is startled into silence. With only the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, Kallus notices that his body is still shaking from the closeness of the encounter. ( _NNot with their mark, and with being nearly discovered; but with Zeb, and his held up against the wall, roughly)._

In the shrouded darkness of the supply closet, he can only make out the glinting of light off the other man’s teeth. 

“We’re not done here yet,” Zeb rumbles. However, it’s not in the low-pitched, under-cover voice that he’d been using back in the room--it’s a carrying stage voice, heavy with promise that almost borders on threat. “I’m not even _close_ to bein’ through with ya, darlin'.” 

Flushing, Kallus blinks up through the darkness.

On one hand, he _knows_ that this is a ploy--a way to throw off the marks, in case they are listening. On the other hand, it is _hot_ \--far too close to his private, hurried fantasies--and that he is already feeling himself growing hard against Zeb’s pressing leg. It had been quite a lot to be pushed up against that wall, and to be laved with the other man's dripping tongue. 

“Z-zeb?...” he breathes, voice still in a whisper. “Is…is this still....?” 

He feels the brush of a hand through his hair. “ _Trust me?”_

Gasping loudly with surprise, Kallus feels Zeb’s hands wrap around his waist. Several cans of pressurized cleaning supplies clatter off of the shelves, hitting the floor with a clamor.

In the sliver of light that pours out from under the door, he can see Zeb watching him carefully. He tightens his grasp around the other man, chews on his lip. All of this time, he's been working hard to repress his reactions to the other man. But here, in this moment--once again, obscured from the other man’s face--he can almost _allow_ himself to release it. To _embrace_ it. If he leans into the desire that is twisting within his chest, he might be able to actually _help_ Zeb in pulling off this part of the plan. 

" _Yes."_

Zeb shoves his back _hard_ against the shelves, causing more cleaning objects to tumble. 

" _Say something."_

“Oh. My dearest!” Kallus moans, doing his best to project. His voice comes out louder than he'd even expected; perhaps, loud enough to still be heard from several doors down. “R-right now? Right _here?_ In this supply _closet_?” 

The silent, rippling laughter of Zeb’s chest against his tells Kallus that he’s made the right decision. He smiles into the hand that is still hovering over his lips, and he leans into the Lasat’s touch, preparing for his next move. 

“Yes, darlin," Zeb replies. "I’m gonna _give it to ya_. So hard, and so long, that I’m gonna have to _carry_ ya all the way back to our suite in my arms!”

The words of it make Kallus _shudder._ Without meaning to, he digs his fingertips into the short, exposed fur of the Lasat's chest. Zeb grunts--from pain, or pleasure, he cannot be sure--and huffs a breath of warm air into his face. He doesn't ask Kallus to let him go, however. 

"Yes?" 

"Yeah!" 

“Then _fuck me already!”_ Kallus is yelling, pitching his voice towards the doorway, screaming words at his friend that he'd only ever dreamed of saying. “Fuck me _hard,_ Garazeb, and don’t you leave me wanting another _moment.”_

“Can do!” 

Kallus feels Zeb adjusting the part of his legs so that either one of his knees are clenching the sides of his abdomen. Shifting Kallus upward to rest on his navel, he directs both of his bare feet until they are pushing at his lower back. In this way, he is suspended upon the Lasat--more like the way that he’d seen mothers carrying their many kits back on Lasan, and less like someone about to get pounded into the empty mop-bucket of a supply closet. Well. It separates him from Zeb’s groin, anyway. 

“ _M’gonna move now,”_ Zeb whispers, almost inaudible. His arms are suspended above them, and he gazes down at Kallus. _“Better hold on tight.”_

_“T-thanks.”_

Zeb's shoulders flex, and, for a moment, Kallus is hanging in the stillness, quiet darkness. Then, Zeb drives his pelvis forward: slamming his thighs and hips into the bucket. Over and over again, so hard that it makes Kallus' jaws snap within his head, and his eyes roll back from the sheer force of it. _STARS._

“There!” Zeb bellows, the heat of it spraying over Kallus face. "There, ya like it like that? Said ya wanted it _hard?"_

Pressed against the Lasat's chest and navel, Kallus can feel every thrum and vibration of his echoed sound. It boils within his stomach, thunders within his ears. Head spinning, heartbeat picking up in a wicked way, Kallus prays that his friend cannot feel his rock-hard erection, nor can hear the soft whimpers that are escaping from his own chest. 

When Zeb pauses, he knows that he's prompting him to join in on the chorus. 

“Y-yes!” Kallus closes his eyes. Breathing in the smell of Zeb, feeling the ripple of his muscles and soaking in the heat of his closeness, Kallus can reach into his dreams, and think of the things that he's always wanted to say. 

"Yes, _Yes._ Give me _everything,_ love!"

 _That_ wasn't one of the pet names they'd settled on. Kallus flinches as he feels the fur beneath Zeb's fingertips beginning to rise. He knows, both from observation and experience, that Lasats often express their most intense of emotions through the movement of hair and tension of muscles. If memory serves him right, _this_ one feels something like aggression. Or possessiveness, maybe. 

Growling loudly, Zeb begins to pick up the pace.

" _Yessss..."_

His hips thunder against the shuddering mop bucket and shelves, sending spiderwebs and dust raining down from the ceiling. Kallus gasps, unable to help himself, as he feels the powerful muscles moving and flexing beneath where his own body grips. He is caught up in it, _lost_ in it: the sensation of being thrust against in the darkness; the feeling of being completely surrounded by the man he loves; the idea of receiving every bit of his physical affection, every ounce of might that he can offer--

“Mmmm-- _ahhhh!”_

The cry that escapes his lips is not _fully_ theatrics.

Kallus is jostled against the shelves. Vaguely, he feels himself sliding down Garazeb’s torso, drawing dangerously close to the deep valley of heat--the point of impact, where the Lasat's open and thrusting legs meet the empty mop barrel with earnest. Where _Kallus_ could fit, taking the sizable, hefty cock that he know _knows_ dwells there. 

“Then _take_ it!” Zeb snarls, voice loud in his ears. “Just--fucking-- _TAKE! IT!"_

He nearly sobs. Kallus is not trying to hid his arousal anymore; he is just holding on for dear life, as the force and intensity of the Lasat's plowing hips accelerate. Somehow, he still has power within him to build--and each one of the movements is making it progressively harder for him to hold on. As Kallus feels his ass sliding into the juncture of his friends hips, his hands scrabble, attempting to pull himself free. 

_He cant feel this, and then be without._ _He CAN'T._

“ _Ahh!_ ZEB! I need! I need to--"

“Yer not goin’ _anywhere!”_ the Lasat roars. 

And, for a moment, Kallus is afraid.

The sheer power within his friend’s voice--not to mention the thrusting bursts of his hips--is enough to remind him that Lasats are, in fact, one of the most _lethal_ predators in the galaxy. Particularly, the ones who have been trained as warriors of the High Honor Guard, as Garazeb Orrelios once had been. It doesn't matter that this one is his friend; it doesn't matter that they are here on an agreement, and pretending to be under cover as a couple. Zeb could _ruin_ him, tear his skin off as easily as his thin clothes, and pound him into the floor whether he wanted this or not. 

“ _Z_ _eb_ …” Kallus sobs, frightened. " _Please."_

Just as suddenly as it all started, the Lasat stops in his motions. 

“ _Kal?”_

In the dim lighting, he can see Zeb's ears flicking anxiously in attention. 

" _Kallus?"_

He gives a shaky, loud sob, and Zeb's arms descend around him. 

Gathering him against his chest, Zeb lowers the pair to the floor. It's a rattle of brooms and dustpans, of course, but they eventually come to rest against the cool tile. With _both_ of them heaving, sweating and shaking. The Lasat brushes a hand through his sweaty hair, pulling away the threads that cling to his face. 

“ _There_ we are, lover,” he says. Gentle, but loud enough to still carry. "There it is. Shhh."

Kallus rubs his knuckles over his face. He blings in the darkness, then buries his head into the sweaty, dense fur of the other man's chest. Zeb's lungs are heaving with exhaustion of his effort, and the aroma rolling off of him is rich and mouth-watering. However, he seems to be completely himself as he runs a hand through Kallus’ hair, the other pressing against his curved back. 

“You okay?” he whispers. His muffled voice is soft with concern. 

Still cradled against him, Kallus nods. Fur tickles against his cheeks and nose as he breathes against the Lasat, content to just lie here for a moment. _Fool. Kriffing fool that I am, falling for a **Lasat.** Of all the alien men in the world...I go out and pick the most dangerous..._As their racing hearts begin to descend, and sweat begins to cool upon his brow, Kallus finally braves a look up at his friend. 

Zeb is watching him anxiously. "Kallus..." 

Shifting against Zeb's chest, he sniffs back the tears. 

"I'm alright," he whispers. "I'm fine Zeb. I'm fine." 

From beneath where he is resting, he hears a rumbling purr. Kallus' lips pull into a smile as he feels tension ebbing out of Zeb's body, as if the Lasat had been just as scared as he was for the moment. After they stay here for a time, he feels himself being handled into a sitting position: straddling Zeb, so that one of his knees are on either side of his thick waist, and his arms are resting over his shoulders. 

Kallus gives him a watery smile. From this vantage point, he is looking _down_ at Zeb. It's novel, and he doesn't hate it. 

Zeb answers with a smile of his own. He gives a squeeze to Kallus' hips. “Well. _That_ was quite the riot!” he says. “Pretty sure that they heard us all the way down to the desk.” 

In spite of the way that his knee is protesting against the cold floor, Kallus grins. He scratches behind one of Zeb's ears, feeling the velvety fur threading under his fingers. “Pretty sure that you're right,” he agrees. “What with you knocking over every last can from the shelves, raining down potential death over our heads. _Foolish Lasat!”_

Garazeb Orrelios laughs. Kallus’ vision has slightly adjusted to the low lighting, and he can see the way that Zeb's face has been illuminated by the sound. The warmth and relief of his expression is enough to make his whole body feel as though it is melting. Even with the intensity of his _‘pretending’_ to be aroused, he still has his best friend.

He hasn’t lost him. 

“I’m _also_ pretty sure that we're safe to go now,” Kallus ventures. ( _“Are you stupid?"_ The little voice protests inside of his head. _“Stay here and keep being held by Zeb! You're never going to get this again!")_ But he doesn't want to jeopardize this any further, and he wants to get cleaned up after this mess. That couple has either resumed their own adventures, or else, nobody nearby will care think to doubt ours." 

Zeb answers him with a cheeky grin. Rather than releasing Kallus, he tugs him _closer,_ green eyes searching over his face. 

“Well. We better make _sure...”_

Kallus raises an eyebrow, confused; and then, Zeb _kisses_ him. 

Kisses him, drawing their faces together, closing the distance between their lips. Zeb kisses Kallus lovingly, _deeply,_ until he is _lost_ in the taste and the texture. Pulse beating widely, heart in his throat, Kallus receives the affection and gasps into the other man’s opened mouth. He groans as Zeb's tongue-- _yes, that same one that had tasted his skin in their doorway_ \--sweeps into his mouth, ghosting over the soft, rounded caps of his teeth compared to his rigid fangs. The other man swirls his tongue playfully over his own, and Kallus shudders. 

“ _Th_ _ere,”_ Zeb says proudly as they draw apart. “Now, they’ll know for _certain_ what we’ve been doin’. Even _if_ they didn’t hear us before, they’ll most _certainly_ see it all over yer face.” 

Kallus cannot speak, cannot _think._

It takes all of his capacity and courage to place his hand upon the one extended to him, allowing himself to be helped up from the floor. However, rather than allowing him to continue over towards the door, Garazeb sweeps him into his arms--hoisting him high upon his shoulder, ignoring Kallus' squawks of protest. 

“What? I _said_ that I was gonna carry ya, didn’t I?” 

Zeb elbows open the door. The rebels spill into the hallway: a tangle of kiss-swollen, sweaty-haired _mess._ Somehow, to Kallus' bemused observation, it is still daytime outside. The world is still turning; they are still standing in the hotel hallway; and a sign hangs over Corbin and Tserena's door, proclaiming, 'Do not Disturb.' 

“C’mon dear,” Zeb rumbles, hugging Kallus against his chest. “We’ve still gotta make our reservation for dinner.”

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallus finds himself unable to pretend any longer. Zeb is gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying something weird with the formatting for this chapter, try to roll with it if you can--

* * *

**SEVEN**

* * *

The food on which they are dining tonight is more delicious than ever before.

But it’s not as though the open-air, beachside restaurant could do any better than its current state of exceptional _._ Indeed, all of the dishes that had been placed before them were just as aromatic and well-arranged as before. It’s that every bite of his rapidly-clearing plate tastes so much sweeter; that every sip of his wine seems all the more velveteen and decadent. Because Kallus still has the taste of _Garazeb Orrelios_ lingering upon his lips.

And that his brain is doing it’s very best to incorporate that newest and most _extraordinary_ of flavors into his palate. 

He sighs dreamily, and the Lasat across the table chuckles.

“Yer really enjoyin’ this, eh, Al?” 

Alexsandr Kallus smiles back, undisguised in his happiness. What had gone from a moment of terrible panic to complete and utter _bliss_ back in that supply closet seems to have broken down his ability to play at an under-cover persona. At least, as anything other than the lovestruck. _Persona. Yeah, right!_ He shakes his head slightly at himself, swirling the rich, scarlet wine in his hand. For a moment, he pauses to savor the unusual fruitiness of the dry, red wine; he closes his eyes, inhaling both the aroma and tenons ( _cherry, red grape, cocoa nibs)._

When he glances up from his beverage, he notices that Zeb is still watching him patiently for an answer. 

“Uh. _Yes,”_ he replies, although a bit late. 

Zeb jut smiles. The Lasat is finishing his own glass of the decadent wine after clearing his own plate. The dessert beverage is rich and lovely, but nothing so powerful as that hard-hitting chocolate sauce that had gotten Kallus...well... _sauced_ on their first night. It’s just enough to numb the tongue pleasantly, but to leave both of the mean calm and clear headed. 

_At least I would be,_ Kallus thinks, watching his friend out of the corner of his eye. _If my mind wasn’t still back in that closet. If I wasn’t replaying the same moment, over and over, within my head. If I wasn’t imagining the way that his lips parted beneath mine--how his tongue slid into my mouth, pushing against me--how he--_

Zeb places his empty wine glass down on the table. He raises one, thick eyebrow at Kallus inquiringly. 

“You seem like yer feelin’ better than...before.”

Kallus ducks his head. He doesn't _want_ to talk about that right now. For all of the happiness and comfort that is buzzing around inside of his body right now, he doesn't want to unearth the root of the fearful, tense feelings buried within his body. He'd really rather that Zeb would do the impossible and just _forget_ it--but that wouldn't be any more likely than him forgetting the whole business of their _kiss._

Zeb winces, apparently seeing the discomfort written on his face. 

“But, maybe, let’s just talk about that later. Yeah?” he asks. 

Zeb's tall, pointed ears draw back on his head with concern. He is looking at Kallus as though _he_ is the one afraid of breaking. 

“Yeah,” he forces himself to agree, using a voice more breezy than he feels. "Later." 

Even with the twisting of dread within his gut, Kallus feels his cheeks warm with affection and gratitude. _Oh, Garazeb. Always so thoughtful. Always so careful with me. Even though he’s confused about my awkward behavior, he’s still willing to give me the space to say what I need. Or to not say._ _How did I ever get so lucky as to have you even as my closest friend?_

All around them, soft music plays. The ocean sighs, and there is the soft murmur of couples dining slowly on shared meals. To Kallus, it is all very relaxing.

Soft wind blows over them from the sea, catching on the short tufts of fur exposed on Zeb’s chest. Like Kallus, he'd changed into an outfit for dinner--but this one was a kind of human-like suit that he'd never seen the man wearing before. The handsome clothing is composed of a tight-fitting, white dress shirt, rolled up at the forearms; a vest, complete with buttons and laces that almost bordered upon corset; stone-colored trousers that matched the earth tones ( _and, from Kallus’ point of view, really enhanced those thighs)._ It’s curious; he’s only seen Zeb wear his versatile jumpsuit. _Did he used to wear the traditional kurta of his people when he lived on Lasan?_ _Did he...dress up, go on dates?_

Kallus finds himself wondering, with that familiar pang of regret and guilt knifing into his heart, as it always does whenever he thinks of Lasan and his impact upon Garazeb's people. Even though he has learned so much about his friend, there are still worlds between them. Expanses, galaxies that he cannot and should never ( _in any just universe)_ cross. 

The sound of Zeb humming along with the gentle, crooning music that drifts over the restaurant’s speakers brings him back.

Surprised, Kallus leans his bearded chin into one of his hands, listening to the reverberating sound. “Do--do you _sing_ , Garazeb?” he asks with interest. 

Zeb smiles. His fangs glitter in the low lighting, echoing the dance of the candle that sits on the table between them. “Mmm, a bit,” he replies with a casual shrug. "Little bit, here an' there." 

Kallus shivers. _Of course a man with a voice like that sings! Why hasn't it occurred to me before?!_ He remembers, briefly, a place that Zeb had described to him once: a private refuge, one that existed only for him upon Atollon, where he’d go to escape the business and troubles of everyday life. As he imagines Zeb stretched out there in his wicker chair, listening to music, he also imagines the Lasat humming, perhaps even whistling a tune from between his lips. 

_LIPS._ Kallus swallows thickly. _Which._ _I now know. How they taste._

“I dance, too. By the way.” 

And _that_ , once again, shakes Kallus out from his introspection. He stares at Zeb, who is grinning back at him. The look on the Lasat's face is equal parts charming and mischievous, and Kallus wonders _(not for the first time)_ if his friend has any idea of the impact he’s having on his fragile and flailing heart. If so, he's a cruel master. _Had he really just said that?_

“What?!” Zeb taunts. “Don’t tell me that ya never learned to waltz at one of them Imperial Galas?” His ears twitch with amusement. 

Kallus doesn’t have to see himself to know that he’s blushing, _deeply._ He had, in fact, _not_ learned to dance. He had declined each and every invitation from the other students, making it often a clear point of pride that he didn’t have time for such frivolities. “I-I--” he stammers. He clears his throat and decides to dodge the question for the sake of his already tarnished dignity. “That’s excellent, Zeb. You’re a man of many talents.” 

Zeb nods, confident as always.

“Yer damn right,” he affirms. “An’ it doesn’t end there. I even taught _Kanan Jarrus_ how to swing a time or two, just so that he could woo our dear captain.” 

Kallus feels his jaw drop open. _Kanan?!_ The suave, handsome Jedi who’d once lived among the Spectres had learned romance under the instruction of _Zeb?_ The image of the tall, strong-armed man sitting across from him working to assist another in the motions and gestures of dance--a foot stepping here, a hand resting there--it makes him _sweat_. _Could...could he teach...me?_

So carried away by the image of Zeb standing behind him, gracefully lifting his arms and drawing him back towards his chest, that he doesn’t even hear the question as it passes from the other man’s lips. 

“Sorry?” he asks, dazed. "Didn't catch that, Garazeb." 

The Lasat sighs. He rises from his chair and unfolds one arm, extending an open-handed palm across the table to Kallus. 

“I _said_ ,” Zeb repeats, “Would ya like to dance with me, Alexsandr Kallus?”

_Zeb. Garazeb. He’s. Asking to dance. With me._

" _..._ ” 

He’s not sure if it’s the use of his name--his real and proper name, after days of only going by ‘Al’--or if it’s the way that the other man is gently becoming him forward. Either way, Kallus is knocked completely speechless by the directness. For a moment, he almost thinks that his nerve will fail him; even now, after all of this waiting, and with the other man approaching him so boldly.But _then_ when he looks up at Zeb--past his massive hand, to where he is watching Kallus with those vivid, viridescent eyes, so filled with unmistakable kindness, and something so _tender--_ that he feels his anxiety leave him. 

“... _Yes._ Yes _,_ I would like that very much. Zeb.” 

Zeb smiles back at him knowingly.

With a crook of his outstretched fingers, he gestures for Kallus to follow. Obediently rising from the table, Kallus takes his open hand. Lacing their fingers together, he leaves behind his empty plates and swirling anxieties, and steps barefoot into the sand. And, beneath the winking starlight, to the soft rhythm of music and waves sighing upon the shore, Kallus and Zeb begin to dance.

* * *

_Zeb smoothes a hand down the length of his back. His chest heaves inwards and outwards as he pulls Kallus snugly into the juncture of his hips. “Gently,” he breathes, sighing into the soft, vulnerable space between his ear and neck._

* * *

“Here, let’s start with the placement of yer hands,” Zeb instructs. 

Kallus stands awkwardly in front of the man he loves, hoping that the magnitude of his excitement is not written so plainly all over his face. _This is happening,_ he thinks, heart thundering in his chest. _Don’t fuck it up. Don’t fuck it--_

“Yer too tight,” Zeb murmurs, placing a hand on either one of his shoulders. “ _Breathe_ , Kallus. Everything is easier if ya just let yerself be a little _softer.”_

With a nervous chuckle, Kallus wiggles his arms in a vein attempt to loosen up. 

Zeb smirks, and he squeezes the hands that are resting upon his shoulders. “Good enough. So, like I said: first, ya wanna put one hand _here--”_ he moves one of Kallus’ hands so that it rests upon his taller shoulder, “--then, ya wanna put the other one _here.”_

He directs his remaining to his waist. 

Kallus swallows, and he knows that the gesture will likely not go unnoticed. Rather than glancing at Zeb to see the Lasat’s teasing reaction, he focuses on the other man’s body. How heat is radiating up through his hand; how the texture of the stone-colored trousers is smoother than he’d expected; how the muscles are shifting, powerful and strong, beneath his fingertips. 

* * *

_“Easy,” Zeb croons. With one hand, he cradles the back of Kallus’ head. “Nice an’ easy--yes, just like that--ya don’t have to force it all to happen at once.”_

_Kallus sobs as he kneads his hands into Zeb’s embrace. Strands of sweat-soaked hair cling to his forehead, and warm tears of broken, full-hearted relief run down his face. They drip down from his nose, mingling with the other expulsions of salty liquid._

_“Take yer time,” Zeb reassures him. “Just go easy, now. That’s it. Don’t want this to hurt.”_

* * *

When Zeb takes a step forward, Kallus isn’t sure what to do.

His center of weight shifts as he attempts to lean backwards from Zeb without moving his own foot, but he finds himself straining in an awkward posture that bends his bad leg in painful, strange ways. Grimacing, he steps back; and he finds not only relief, but also, that he has fallen into the appropriate place for the next movement. 

“Well, aren’t _you_ a quick learner!” Zeb proclaims, proud. 

Kallus feels his cheeks burn with pleasure as Zeb’s thumb strokes against his hip where it rests. 

“That’s right, Kal: just let your body _feel_ what it’s ‘spose to be doin’, and it will just follow naturally. You gotta let go of what other people are thinkin’ of ya, and just let your instincts take over your actions.” 

_“Ha!”_

He can’t help but snort back a bubble of laughter at the sheer _physicality_ of Zeb’s chosen words. If Alexsandr Kallus was not so certain that something like this could not be for him--if he didn’t know for sure that Zeb was too honorable, too _good_ of a man to want something with him beyond friendship--he would even suppose that it could be _romantic._

Zeb arches an eyebrow. 

“You think I’m funny?” he asks, voice dropping into a lower rumble. 

It makes Kallus shiver, and not with fear, like before. 

“Often,” he replies with a smirk. “Along with being the muscle, I find that you provide the most _color_ _commentary_ among the Spectres.”

Zeb grunts and rolls his eyes. He steps again, inviting Kallus to follow his lead. Kallus does: this time, moving along with Zeb to the side when the Lasat makes a slow-moving, rotating movement. It earns him a large, toothy grin of approval, and he finds himself blushing again. 

“I’m just _full_ of talents,” Zeb agrees with a wink. 

To underscore this, he sweeps a hand above Kallus’ head, drawing him into the most gentle of spins. It is easier for Kallus to follow than he would’ve expected: shifting his hips until he was turning upon one foot, anchored by one of Zeb’s hands above him, one hand below. 

“Ah, _beautiful!”_ his friend praises. 

* * *

_Kallus gasps, sharply drawing in air as the man that he loves settles inside him. His voice is rough and ragged with emotion, and his throat feels raw from panting. Reaching out with his fingertips, he blindly searches for the other, familiar hand to hold onto._

_Strong fingers encircle his own, drawing their palms together tight._

_“Alexsandr,” Zeb sighs. With reverence, he begins kissing the hand that is clasped between them. “Alexsandr Kallus. My darling. Mine.”_

* * *

Kallus comes to a standing rest before Zeb, both of his hands outspread and resting upon his broad chest. Wonderingly, Kallus strokes his hands over the fine, soft fabric of Zeb’s vest beneath his fingers.He notices that several of the buttons have fallen undone.

 _Me? Beautiful?_ He blinks with surprise. _No. You are._

Garazeb Orrelios is the most handsome person that he's ever seen: human, alien, or otherwise. It's not just his personalty--honorable, kind, resilient--it's his whole, physical being. Strong, powerful shoulders; bold, dark-purple stripes; rippling muscles; powerful thighs; clawed hands and feet big enough to crush a man's head, and yet gentle enough to place a meteorite in his hands. 

He cannot bear to think of how they look right now. He dares to look up at him.

Perhaps, this is a bad idea: because starlight is glimmering within his eyes. His pupils have bloomed wide and dark, fixed upon Kallus face with a steady gazing. One of his lower fangs has emerged from that plush, violet-hued lip, which looks so inviting and warm in the coolness of the night air and sea breeze. He watches Alexandr Kallus with all the focus of a man that is seeing the most beloved person in all of their world. 

Kallus feels himself leaning forward. 

* * *

_When he finally arrives at his climax, it is an explosion of sensations._

_"Aaah!" Kallus screams. His whole body shakes, and he feels himself coming undone: cell by cell, strand by strand, piece by piece. His hands, interlaced with Garazeb's own, clasp on with bruising intensity. His mind, his body, his soul is melting. He doesn't want to get lost. He does not want to fade away into the darkness. He is only just beginning to be found._

_"Shhh," the voice of his lover soothes against his ear. "I'm here, love. I've got you. I'm here."_

* * *

Their second kiss is just as delicious as the first. Perhaps, even better. 

Zeb cups Kallus’ face within his hands, and his eyelids flutter closed. He doesn’t see so much as _feel_ him approach, and he allows the _softest_ sound of want to escape from his lips. It must have been what the other man was waiting for: because, after that quiet expression, those heavenly, pillow-soft lips are pressing firmly against his. 

Sweet, and tender, and _loving._ With just enough pressure to draw his own mouth apart, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, nibbling at the tender flesh, softly. 

“ _Zeb!”_ Kallus gasps. 

He knots his fingers into the ruff of fur emerging from Zeb’s open shirt, grasping tightly and drawing the other man closer. His mouth is so slick, so _warm._ He feels so _good._ He is _holding_ Kallus, _close,_ as though he _wants_ to hold him. Even though his body is no longer spinning, he feels as though he might as well be in the present. 

“ _Kal,”_ Zeb answers him in a purr. Another kiss. “Is this... _okay?”_

Kallus nods fervently. He feels one of the thumbs cupping at his jawline stroke through his beard. Soft, and slowly. He presses closer against the other man, not wanting to break the contact, and certainly not wanting to stop the moment. 

_STARS. Stars. Karabast. It’s. It’s finally. Happening._

“You still here with me?” Zeb murmurs against his lips. 

The hand that is not stroking his face begins to work down the side of his neck, and then follow the firm lines down his back. Kallus feels Zeb grip against his thigh as he pulls him closer, bringing their bodies flush and gathering them at the base of the spine.

Kallus thinks that he might be crying. 

“Take me to bed,” he pleads, blinking up at the Lasat through watery eyes. “Please. _Please,_ Garazeb.” The colors of the dark sky and his friend’s face are blurred above him. “I need to know that this is real. I need to know that this really _matters.”_

Any further of his whispered, begged words are silenced by the meeting of softened lips against his. 

* * *

_He hears the breath of the waves. He sees stars._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--was it manageable? did it work?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallus and Zeb earn the title. We all learn a few things. Fluff, smut and feels ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW at the end for implied/ suggested past trauma for Kallus.

* * *

**EIGHT**

* * *

When he opens his eyes the next morning, Zeb is still right there beside him. 

The Lasat is sleeping peacefully. He lies stretched out on his belly, strong arms pillowed beneath his head, back rising and falling with every snore. One fang peeks from beneath a lavender-soaked lower lip, and the sound that rumbles from deep in his chest and throat is somewhere between a growl and a purr. His tall, fuzzy ears--so mobile and expressive while he is awake--droop forward in a relaxed, gentle state. Every few minutes or so, one of them gives the smallest of rotations or twitch; a suggestion that he is dreaming. 

_Is he dreaming about...us?_ Kallus wonders. _Us, together?_

The memory of it flushes his skin. Still hardly believing what happened last night, Alexsandr Kallus exhales the smallest breath of wonder. Watching, he allows himself to admire the naked form of his slumbering friend in the bed beside him. 

_No. Not just friends, anymore. We’ve become..._

If the sight before him did not tell him otherwise, Kallus couldn’t accept the reality of it. He’s been waiting, _yearning_ after the other man for so long now, that it still doesn’t seem possible. Even though there is the faintest blush of bruised fingerprints upon his forearms and thighs; even though the inside of his legs holds a burning, sweet ache; even though his tired, heavy limbs suggest feats of unusual bending and strength. It cannot be real. 

That he and Garazeb… _They…_

Sunlight filters through the open doors of the patio. It alights on the raised tips of Zeb’s purple fur, illuminating colors that range from pale lavender to the deepest indigo. As he rests, the Lasat’s back rises and falls, and it makes the pattern of his stripes undulate in the morning light. Behind him, Kallus can see the turquoise-blue of the gemstone waves, the fluffy whiteness of clouds pulling against the sky, the swaying of palm-trees scattered over the shore. 

_Beautiful._

At the muffled, grunting sound of a disrupted snore, and the other man stumbles awake. Kallus stiffens as Zeb opens his mouth and _yawns_ , fangs catching and glinting the bright morning sunlight. He makes a contented sound, then begins to knead the clawed hands resting upon the pillow in a minute clasping and releasing motion. 

“G’mornin,” Zeb rumbles, eyes not yet open. “You get some sleep, darlin’?” 

_Ah. So, we’re really doing this._

“Good morning, Zeb,” Kallus replies softly. “Yes. Very well. Yourself?” 

In truth, Kallus had slept better in Zeb’s arms than anywhere, or with anyone, else.

The Lasat smiles, ears twitching with pleasure. The sight of it relieves some of the anxious tension built up inside of his belly, and releases the twisting network of nerves inside of his stomach. _He’s not mad with me,_ Kallus thinks. _And he’s not disappointed, or disgusted._ He watches the Lasat open his eyes--pupils unfocused and fuzzy for a moment, but then, upon finding Kallus, blooming dark and wide into spheres of affection. 

“Missed you,” Zeb says simply. “But I’m over it, now. _C’mere.”_

The sentiment strikes Kallus as odd. And yet, blushing furiously, he allows the Lasat to gather him into the warmth of his chest, face and fingertips buried within the ruff of chest fur. “I’m right here, Zeb,” he replies quietly. “I never went anywhere.” 

The feeling of the other man’s warm, careful hands moving gently over his back and pulling him into a hug feels better than any sensation that he’s ever known. 

Zeb hums, and the sound folds into an easy purr. 

“Yeah, but I had no way of bein’ sure that ya wouldn’t,” he replies. “Had to go to sleep last night with you in my arms, but not knowin’ if you’d still be here with me in the mornin.’” The hand on Kallus’ back rises to pet through his hair protectively. “Who knows? Ya might’ve even gone and done somethin’ stupid like ‘run away and pretend that this never happened.’ Ya know, like usual.” 

Kallus winces. _Yes._ The thought had, in fact, occurred to him earlier. When he’d first woken up, with the man he loves most resting against his back--equally inches within reach, or within loss--he’d been filled with terror. 

_“Sorry,”_ he mumbles, petting through the soft fur of Zeb’s chest. “I’m. I’m not very good at this.” 

The Lasat chuffs softly against his head. “What’s ‘ _this’?”_ he asks, teasing claws through the mess of his hair. It feels relaxing, and good. “Lettin’ someone that you wanna hold actually _hold you back_?” 

For some reason, this particular combination of words unlocks his tears again. 

Kallus buries his face into Zeb’s chest, nose coming to rest between his spread hands. He feels his back shudder beneath the Lasat’s open palms, and the tickle of hair on his nose as wetness begins to soak into his fur. Zeb, however, doesn’t push him for an explanation: he just holds on to Kallus and lets him cry. Even as the tears transform from something silent into something more heavy, labored and gasping. 

In truth, It’s not unlike the night before--when, with each new and affectionate touch, Kallus had been made slowly undone. _Not this,_ he’d thought, as his best friend had kissed into his mouth and hands. _Not something so precious. For me._ It had been a sign of their trust that Zeb had resisted each of his grasping attempts to make things rushed and messy, and had, instead, taken the time to bring him slowly and carefully through the levels of intimacy. 

By the time that Zeb had finally entered, Kallus had been weeping: silent, cleansing tears of gratitude and relief. 

Blessedly, like the night before, the tears eventually had their end. Kallus works his way through the most ugly of sobs, and feels his knotted shoulders already growing lighter. He sniffles, then coughs, and raises one forearm to wipe the teary liquid away from his face. All the while, Zeb is here with his rumbling purr. 

“Yeah?” Zeb asks, cradling his head with his hands. “That bad, huh?” 

Kallus smiles weakly. Zeb thumbs through the hair of his beard, sliding the clawed finger tip along his jaw and through his beard soothingly. His eyes are soft with affection and concern, but he doesn’t press for anything more. _You’re such a good man,_ Kallus thinks. _Such a better person than I deserve._ His insides twist, and he feels nauseous. _No, stop. I don't want to think about...that. Right now._

The Lasat’s eyebrow ticks up, and he shakes his head slightly at Kallus. “Ah, see, yer makin’ that face that ya always do when you’re hatin’ yerself.” 

Kallus cringes. _What good is all of that kriffing ISB training if I cannot even keep a single, private thought to myself?_ Unfortunately, this is another one of those Zeb-labeled ‘hatin-yerself’ type of thoughts, because the Lasat’s other eyebrow joins in the raise. 

“Besides makin’ a hobby of suffering,” Zeb says, gazing down at him seriously, “what’s the use of thinkin’ like that?” 

Kallus can’t help it. He chuckles, and that splits a smile across Garazeb’s face. The Lasat’s whole frame illuminates, unfolding with happiness and relief. Bowing his head downard, closing his eyes, he bumps his forehead together with Kallus. 

“ _There_ we are!” he proclaims, rubbing their brows together. “Let all of that krayt-spit _go_.” 

_If only it were that easy, Zeb,_ Kallus thinks. _If only all it took was the decision to let go of where I have been, of what I have done, and to just believe that I am worthy of all that you say I am._ But rather than argue, he simply holds on to his friend--his _lover’s--_ chin, fingers woven into his wiry beard, grasping at the purple hairs and breathing in the smell of his earthy, rich musk. 

When he scratches his nails softly into the hair, he is rewarded with a soft _growl._

“ _Mmmmmm,”_ Zeb rumbles, huffing air out of his nose and butting his head lower. “Do s’more of _that,_ and we’ll be due for another round pretty quick.” 

Kallus feels a jolt of excitement leap up his spine like fire. _YES._ Even though he is still tender in several places, the swelling thrum of his pulse is enough to make his breath stutter inside of his chest. His body is quickly remembering the way that the pair of them had tangled together last night, fisting into the sheets and sighing into one another’s open and searching mouths. 

Zeb’s eyes flutter open. He fixes Kallus with that look again: Affectionate. Possessive. _Hungry._

 _“Alexsandr…”_ he reaches down, grabbing the covers. In one sweeping motion, Zeb pulls them smoothly up and over their heads, plunging them both into hot, shrouded darkness. 

“...I’d like ya to _fuck me._ Think ya can do that?” 

Kallus’ heart leaps into his throat. This is a totally different mood than last night; but he can’t say that he doesn’t _like_ it. He also cannot say that he hasn’t thought, within the privacy of his own bunk at night, about what it would feel like to sink into the flesh of the other man: to be so fully encased around and within Garazeb, that he cannot tell where one of them ends and the other begins. 

“I…” 

Sweat begins to bead upon his brow in the muffled humidity under the sheets. In the shadows between them, he can see the Lasat stirring, angling his body so that their hips slot together with ease. Kallus takes a sharp inhale of breath as he feels the head of Zeb’s slickened cock push against him, already sliding out from between the parted folds of his sheath. The wetness of it slides against the tightened muscles of his thigh, leaving a cooling trail in its wake. 

“... _Yes.”_

Garazeb purrs, deep and pleased. “I was _hopin’_ you’d say that.”

He shifts again, so that the extending length of his erection can curve up and push against Kallus’ lower belly. It is as if the member is tapping at him with eager insistence, hoping to get his attention. In the low light that filters through the covers, Kallus sees that Zeb is grinning. 

“Not so much involved with gettin’ ready as humans. But. I could suggest a few places to start?” 

Kallus shivers. _How did we finally arrive here at this?_ He wonders, dazed. _I went from being unable to flirt, to listening for instructions on how to suck Lasat dick._ “Sure, Zeb,” he replies, voice breathy with interest. “Promise that I won’t start crying again.” 

The other man, who has been reaching down to grasp at Kallus’ growing erection, halts in his tracks. 

“I’d rather that ya promise to just be _yerself,”_ Zeb says, staring him down. “An’ if that means shedding off layers of kark that’s happened to ya by vomiting it all out on me? I couldn’t be more honored.” Kallus snorts, disgusted. “Seriously! Don’t bother holding back...” 

The Lasat’s massive hand encloses around both of their cocks, circling them within his grip. 

“...Might be for the best, anyway. Cause I can’t imagine that you’ll get through _this_ without makin’ some noise.” 

Kallus begins laughing, but then suddenly _gasps,_ feeling the sensation of their shafts sliding together. It’s different from being with a human being, of course--Zeb’s organs are mostly internal, and only unsheathed for the moment of action. Thus, he is already slippery, hot and _wet,_ and the feeling of slick lubrication without any work is enough to jolt him into full hardness. 

_“Ah!”_ he gasps. The hands still resting upon Zeb’s chest grip tightly into his fur. “Y-you may be r-right.” 

“Course m’right.” 

_Stars!_ This is _fantastic_ . Zeb isn’t confident in his abilities without reason: as Kallus had discovered last night, the Lasat is _more_ than competent with his mouth, hands, even his _feet._ It would have been enough to get him aroused just from running his hands over the rippling, twitching muscles of the other man’s powerful back, arms and chest. It is _enlightening_ to feel the heat of his panting breath on his face and neck; to receive the stroke of his hand gliding over his dick, soaked by the liquid of his own making. 

Kallus whimpers. It makes Zeb’s smile widen. 

“Here’s the plan, darlin’,” the Lasat pants above him. His chest is working to keep up with the speed of his hand, and he is drawing in great, shuddering breaths through his nose. “I’m goin’ to get ya hard enough so that yer good an’ ready. Then, when yer feelin’ good and close to bursting, I want ya to let me know--then we shift, and you get behind me.” 

He feels his eyes flutter closed at the suggestion. Kallus pictures it inside of his head--hands gripping on to Zeb’s waist, pounding into him from the back--and he feels a hiccup of pleasure escape from between his lips. 

“We’ll use some’a my spend,” Zeb continues, voice growing gravelly and low. “You’ll slick yerself up, an’ plow right inside me. I mean, _all_ the way in. Do it _proper._ I don’t need to be prepared, and ya don’t need to worry ‘bout takin’ it easy.”

Reeling, Kallus opens his eyes. 

_Have you--?--When did--? Did you always know how to talk dirty like this, or did you go and learn it somewhere?!_ He blinks, watching the way that the place around the other man’s eyes has crinkled with pleasure and amusement, trying his best not to wonder about Zeb’s other ( _and hopefully, former)_ lovers. _Are all Lasats built like this, so that they can take human lovers so easily into themselves? Is this uniquely Zeb, as someone who has been spread out and stretched before? Last night, did he think about this, and--_

“S-sounds like-- _ah!_ \--a good plan,” he groans. Kallus licks over his lips, tasting salt and the softest hint of Zeb’s kisses. “O-only problem? You’d. You’d have to come f-first, and moving inside you might feel less than pleasant.” 

Zeb’s breath hitches. Their joined hands begin to rise in speed, and he works a thumb over the head of his swollen, purple-black dick. “Get more than one,” he grunts. His brow is furrowed with concentration, and he looks as though he is approaching the edge. 

As Kallus stares at him wonderingly, he feels loosen nubs and membranes beginning to firm. 

“Haa--last night, didn’t push it--” Zeb seems to be straining to maintain focus. “But. I get. _Several_. If ya can handle it.”

This new knowledge practically makes _Kallus_ pour over their hands. _Lasats get multiple orgasms?!_ He thinks, eyes growing wide. _As in, within a short succession?_ The many possibilities--and foregone limitations--begin to form inside of his head. Ridges, thick and slightly pointed, also begin to form under his fingers. 

Zeb’s thrusting hips are stuttering now. _“R-ready?”_

Kallus makes a strangled noise of agreement. It takes everything that he has not to join the Lasat as he bursts into orgasm within his hands, shuddering and gasping with the power of the release. 

“ _G-ahh!”_

Speaking about their plans must have been good for them both. Zeb looks utterly _wrecked,_ and he just comes and _comes,_ more of the purple-white fluid pouring out of his cockhead than Kallus would ever believe possible. It shoots between them, spanning his chest, some of it even spattering the mussed-up threads of his beard. 

“ _Z-zeb--”_ he groans. 

“ _NOW,”_ his lover growls. 

Obediently, and practically holding his breath against the tidal-wave of arousal that he feels at being soaked in the hot, slick bath of Zeb’s spend, Kallus agrees. With a sliding between them that makes him _groan,_ he pulls himself away from Zeb’s chest and begins to shuffle behind him. To his surprise, the Lasat makes a soft, _begging_ sound, somewhere between a moan and a gasp of pleasure. 

It drives him that much faster to his knees as he crouches behind him. 

“W-where should I put my hands?” Kallus asks, breath caught in his chest. His body is _screaming_ for touch, alive with every sensation of sight, sound and touch. He feels cold around the flesh of his erection where Zeb had recently stopped touching him; he feels _hot_ all over his skin, as though he might suddenly burst into flame beneath the covers. 

Zeb raises his pelvis, gesturing back at him with the wings of his hips. Gulping, Kallus reaches forward and grasps into the muscle-bound flesh. 

_“...Don’...don’t forget what I said…”_ The Lasat’s typically low voice has gone thin and breathy. He kneads his back feet into the mattress, bracing himself upon the folded cross of his forearms. _“...don’t hold back.”_

Even with a defection on his record, Alexsandr Kallus has always been good at following orders. 

Gathering slick within the palm of one hand, he begins thrusting hurriedly into his fist. It’s _nothing_ compared to Zeb’s touch, but he feels his body responding. The other hand, still on Zeb’s hip, squeezees him reassuringly. _I’m here. I’m not going anywhere._ Groaning at the sheer, excessive amount of purple-white spend dripping from beneath his fingers, he speeds up the motions, thinking of how it will feel to finally press inside. 

Zeb makes another one of those pleading sounds. His claws grate against the grain of the sheets.

“O-okay,” Kallus pants, lining himself up. “T-take it easy. I’m. I’ve got you.” 

The echo of Zeb’s words falling from his own mouth--the tender, promising words whispered into his ear, so soft and sweet, as he’d been gathered into the safety of the other man’s arms--rise to his lips naturally. 

He finds that he means them by every possible measure. 

Holding his lover tight, Kallus plunges forward. He heeds Zeb’s command and moves inside the Lasat with greater speed and force than he would with another human partner. He doesn’t stop, as he usually would, to check and see if his sizable length and girth is catching upon a ridge or causing discomfort; instead, he allows his hips to snap forward with all of the strength of a warrior, giving him back exactly what he’d requested. 

_“That’s--MMMhhh!”_ Zeb exclaims, shuddering under the covers. “T-that’s-- _yeah. Exactly.”_

Flush with the feeling of praise, _delirious_ with the sensation of being sheathed inside of the man that he’s wanted for _years,_ Kallus finds himself blinking back tears again. Zeb had _asked_ him to not hold back. He doesn’t mind...it’s _alright_ if…

Mingling groans of pleasure with tiny, sobs, Kallus begins thrusting. 

“ _Kaaaallllll….”_

Dropping his head to fall loosely between his shoulders, he begins to thrust _harder._

_“Kallus. Alexsandr.”_

They fall into the wild, shifting rhythm of love-making once more. Kallus gripping onto Zeb with all of his might, Zeb holding on to his bracketed arms, groaning his name and begging him forward. It is everything, and still so much more, than he could have ever imagined: the wonderful _tightness_ of being encased insight the ring of muscle; the scalding _heat_ of being buried up to the hilt; the bruising _collision_ of their bodies rolling together, with flesh seeking greater impact and friction. 

Sweat drips from Kallus’ forehead, falling onto the fuzzy outline of Zeb’s arching spine. 

His burning lungs are beginning to ache. His cock, slick and throbbing, is only seconds away from rupture. His legs shake where he kneels behind the other man, ass and hips trembling with effort from thrusting and holding himself up. He does not have much longer. 

_“I’m...g-getting_ ...” he groans and rolls his head back. “ _Garazeb._ I’m getting. _Close.”_

The Lasat growls, and Kallus feels the sensation vibrating around his sheathed cock. And if _that_ isn’t the hottest thing that he’s ever felt. “Do you--do you want me to come ins--”

“--I _want_ you,” Zeb confirms, not waiting for the end of his question. 

Kallus shudders. 

“Just the one, then,” he warns. His voice is strained, almost manic, and he wants to laugh at the idea of having to remind his lover of having a singular orgasm. “This’ll be it.” 

The impatient noise that Zeb makes is enough to confirm that he’s heard and understood. Grasping onto the other man’s hips, burying his head into the ruff of fur between his shaking shoulders, he sobs, and allows his body to climax. 

It’s a powerful, limb-shaking release. Kallus isn’t sure if he’s yelled aloud or just started crying again, but his throat feels rough and raw from overuse. Saliva flies from his lips as seed bursts from between his legs, shooting out from his body and pouring into Zeb’s. His exhausted thighs spasm as the last of his spend bursts away from him in small, staggered jolts, and he allows himself to collapse weakly on top of his partner. 

He allows himself to fall, knowing with certainty that Zeb will catch him. 

Kallus isn’t sure how long he lies there, utterly content and wrung-out. Gradually, he feels Garazeb’s body shifting beneath him, feels himself being moved and re-settled so that he is lying face-to-face with his best friend and partner. Tears still cling to his closed eyelashes, and he hums sleepily into Zeb’s hand as the Lasat pets through his hair, over the ridge of his eyebrows and nose. 

_“Thanks,_ ” he whispers quietly against the skin of Zeb’s open palm.

There is a shifting of weight, and the feather-light press of lips against his own. 

“No,” Zeb murmurs, “Thank _you.”_

Weak-limbed and blissed-out in the most wonderful way, Alexsandr Kallus falls back asleep. His not-quite-pretend lover is there to watch over him, running a hand through his hair and gently kissing the flushed skin of his face. He falls asleep to the sound of waves; the warmth of sunlight filtering down on his shoulders; and the knowledge that he is well and truly loved, in spite of it all.

* * *

_It wouldn’t be until several months later, well into their established relationship, that Kallus would tell him about the mercenary Lasat. That he would recount to his partner the nightmarish things, and would speak of what had been forcibly taken from him._

_“I know,” Zeb would reply, kissing him softly and sadly. “I know, love. I know.”_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we’ll get back to the humorous stuff next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swimming pool shenanigans. Things get hairy; then, they get better.

* * *

**NINE**

* * *

They’re lounging poolside when they next catch sight of the mark and his date. 

“Well. What’re we going to do _now?”_ Kallus asks Zeb in a quiet, frustrated tone. “They know who we are. And they’ll be suspicious--if not outright _hostile_ \--the next time that we brush up against them. So what’s the play? This is going to take incredible care.” 

His Lasat partner hums in agreement. Zeb looks very relaxed, stretched out and reclined there on his sunning chair, clad only in the most _flamboyant_ of chartreuse-green bathing shorts. “Either somethin’ very stealthy,” he replies in that same, quiet tone, “or very _direct.”_ He quirks one eyebrow at Kallus. “Pity that we didn’t establish ourselves as swingers. Coulda worked itself out pretty well.” 

Kallus’ mouth had been on the rim of his glass; thus gulps down a larger mouthful of colada than he’d intended. “ _Zeb!”_ he gasps, his eyes watering.

The Lasat grins and shrugs. Both of his muscular arms are pillowed behind his purple head, and the wind of the sea rolls off of his short, striped fur, making it ripple like freshly-stroked velvet in the breeze. He looks more comfortable and relaxed than one ought to on a mission ( _particularly, after making such suggestive comments)._

Zeb chuckles. His lower fangs protrude from his mouth. 

“Aw, I’m just kiddin’ with ya, Al.’” He stretches, chest arching upwards towards the sun, and Kallus cannot help but imagine what it might look like for Zeb to be in such a state. “I’ve got a few other ideas. Between breakin’ into their room for round two--which I wouldn’t advise--or or chatting em’ up at the bar, I think that we oughta get what we need.” 

Kallus rubs at his chin. He’d combed through the mussed hair this morning with Zeb’s new brush, and his mutton-cops feel extra glossy. 

“Bold of you to assume that they’d talk to us, after what happened,” Kallus murmurs. “But you’re right, of course. I don’t like the idea of trying to find the lost data in their room again. So I think that the bar-thing might be our option.” 

Zeb nods. 

He stretches again, _languidly_ , and the motion makes his muscular body ripple and flex in the sun. “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he smirks, spreading and wiggling his toes. “I’ll just turn up the charm, and we’ll have our data back to Rebel Base in no time.”

Kallus rolls his eyes. He’d argue against the Lasat’s abundant confidence, but as _he’d_ fallen to those very same charms _himself_... 

“Fine then,” he agrees, keeping his voice quiet and low. “You take the lead. We’ll go with the bar plan. If we’re working off the information Draven sent with us here, we’ve got less than 14 hours left. That’s a pretty short time to figure it out. At this point,” he sets his jaw with determination, “I’m ready to try anything.” 

Zeb’s eyes glitter wickedly. _“Anything?”_ He smiles. 

Kallus narrows his eyes. _Is he about to propose another one of his more dangerous plans--like making out against the wall of our mark’s room? Or like pretending to fuck in the supply closet, making sure that the whole resort hears?_ “What did you have in mind?” he asks warily. 

Zeb rises from his sun chair. 

Before Kallus can protest, he’s being gathered into the other man’s arms. It’s nice, for a second--and then Kallus sees where he’s headed, and suddenly _knows_ what’s going to happen to him. He squirms uselessly as the glittering, sun-soaked pool rapidly approaches, and he feels Zeb’s silent laughter bubbling within his chest. 

“ _Garazeb Orrelios,_ I swear to the _Ashl_ \--AAAAHH!” 

Kallus is launched bodily into the pool. 

The last thing that he hears before plunging underwater is the roaring, pleased laughter of the Lasat. Kallus growls and grits his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as the sound rushes out and away from his ears, leaving him in the muted, turquoise-blue world. At first impact, the water is shocking: cold, wet, and enveloping. But after it soaks into his freckled, hot skin, the cool temperature and soft stroke of the water begins to feel _good._

He bursts from the surface, spraying water from his mouth and scattering droplets from his hair.

After wiping his eyes, he locates Zeb’s tall, striped form making its way over to the poolside bar. His shoulders still appear to be shaking with laughter, and there is a bounce to his plodding step that Kallus has come to identify with the proud triumph that comes from pulling pranks (usually, on Ezra Bridger). 

_Bastard,_ he thinks fondly. 

How has it finally come down to... _This_ ? It’s only been a few hours since the first time they’d kissed, but now, Alexsandr Kallus is in a relationship with the man that he _loves_ . That he _has_ loved. For _years._

It had hardly even been his own fault; If anyone is to blame, it is Garazeb Orrelios. There are so few persons in the galaxy so admirable, so honorable, so _kind_. And while Kallus had known, since that first night on Bahryn, that the Rebel was capable of deep compassion, he’d never fathomed how much the man was _truly_ worth until he’d come and joined the Rebellion. Upon his arrival at Rebel Base, there had been many people who thought ‘ISB Agent Kallus’ ought to suffer and pay for his crimes. No matter what he’d sacrificed along the way as Fulcrum, the cold-shoulders and death-threats kept coming for him; coming, that is, until Zeb stepped in. Kallus hadn’t deserved it; he might have been the very _last_ to deserve it, given what he’d done to Zeb’s home, Zeb’s life; but, somehow, he’d received the unending loyalty and fearsome protection of a Lasat. And not just _any_ Lasat: Garazeb Orrelios. The former captain of the High Honor Guard. The most honorable, gentle, _good_ man Kallus has ever known. 

Kallus is gazing down at the ring on his finger--the one that Zeb carved for him, out of their meteorite--when a flash of bright pink catches his eye. 

_Tserena,_ he thinks with a jolt of pleased surprise. The bikini-clad Twi’lek is making her way towards the bar, tattooed hips swaying and cup in her hand. _Perfect timing. Good instinct, Zeb. Maybe, this will be even easier than we thought…_

Even though Draven is an ass, the general _does_ know what he’s doing by assigning Garazeb Orrelios a mission like this. He’s...gifted, with seduction. Kallus feels a twinge of jealousy while he watches Zeb chatting up the woman, even in the midst of his admiration for the other man’s skill. She laughs, tossing one long lek over a smooth shoulder flirtatiously, and Kallus bites the inside of his cheek. He wonders what Zeb had said to make her giggle like that. 

“Well, what do you know?” a familiar voice asks from behind him. 

Kallus stills. He’d become limp-limbed and lazy in the warm water, and he _hadn’t_ expected their mark to swim up behind him like that. Stroking his hands through the clear pool carefully, he swivels to face him. 

Corbin smiles at him genially. The man is tan-skinned and well-rounded, appearing to be in his later forties or early fifties. He has salt and pepper hair--which does not age him unwell, or make him appear to be any less handsome--and the dark curls on his arms, belly and chest make him seem cuddly and familiar. The man’s mustache is well-groomed, his thick lips are pulled into a smile, and the ever-present, golden chain bobs around his neck in the glittering water. 

“Allen, was it?” he asks in a pleasant, friendly tone. “Fancy seeing you here! And after I told you that I _never wanted to see your face again_. Ha!” 

Kallus winces. “Er…” 

_Kriff. Kriff it!_ What is he supposed to do _now_?! He’d been relying on Zeb to manage their approach; they hadn’t discussed what he should do if something like this occurred. Beneath the water, his hands twitch anxiously. He wishes that he had his bo-rifle, or even a blaster. 

Corbin bursts out with _laughter_ . Kallus jolts back in surprise, as the man tips his head back and laughs pleasantly. Lines of age appear around his eyes from behind dark sunglasses, and he slaps one hand upon the surface of the water. _Oh. That’s, Er. Not what I expected._

“Easy there, young man. I’m just messing with you.” 

Kallus struggles not to lift his eyebrows. _Young man?_ He hasn’t been called something like that in a _long_ while. Thinking of what Zeb would do in such a situation, he relaxes his mouth and shoulders, attempting to open and soften his posture. 

“You’re too kind,” Kallus says with true gratitude. “Once again, my sincerest apologies for tripping our way into your room. You cannot _possibly_ imagine how embarrassing that was for us.” 

The mark smiles. In the front of his mouth, one golden tooth glitters. It’s sharpened into a pointed fang, standing oddly against his plump, cherubic face. “Oh, I don’t know about _that,”_ Corbin replies, waving a hand. “And, as I said: I’m only joking. No, there’s too little time for us to get away from Imperial demands. Each and every moment that we can steal with our lovers is worth it, right?” 

“Right,” Kallus replies with a forced chuckle. He follows the man’s eyes to the bar. 

Zeb and Tserena are standing together, talking animatedly. Both of them appear a bit tipsy, and several glasses have been emptied and scattered across the bar. Zeb is leaning forward and towards her in that way that he does when he’s speaking more loudly than necessary, and his ears are tilted forward with attention. The Twi’lek, too, appears to be enraptured: her purple-red eyes are fixed on him, and she reacts with a laugh to something Zeb’s said. 

Corbin sighs happily. Kallus glances at him, catching the man once again touching his necklace. 

“Umm..fascinating piece of jewelry you’ve got there,” he ventures. Now that he looks again, it _is_ quite interesting: the glittering necklace is covered with intricate, barely-visible lines. The subtle, spidery grooves appear to be decorative, perhaps, the kind of decoration that one could affix with a signature. Upon such a glance, most people would mistake such inscriptions for cracks or artistic impressions; but Alexsandr Kallus is _not_ most people. He’d been trained as an ISB agent. And when he looks, he sees what many do not. “Where does one acquire such lovely effects?” 

The mark lifts his hand, wrapping thick fingers around a cylindrical swivel. 

“What, _this_ old thing?” he asks coyly, turning the chain in his hand. “Thank you kindly. But you know? It’s origin, I really couldn’t say. It’s actually an old family _heirloom,_ passed down from father to son for generations.” He smiles, and that golden fang sparkles again. “I’m the latest in line to acquire it.” 

Kallus forces himself not to let his skepticism show on his face.

“You don’t say?” he asks, voice curious and kind. “May I?” 

Corbin nods, gesturing him closer. Kallus treads through the water until he can see the necklace even closer: faint traces of lines, suggesting the intricate code-work beneath, the kind that could protect hidden layers of data while cloaked by a flashy gold plating above.

The _perfect_ place to hide stolen Rebellion information. 

“Marvelous,” he says, allowing his very real wonder to color the words. “You don’t happen to have the name of a merchant? Or know something of how many generations ago this started? It’s _very_ handsome,” he adds quickly, as Corbin raises his bushy eyebrows at him. “The kind of thing that I’d love to get for my Zeb.” 

Beneath his mustache, the mark smiles proudly. 

“Oh, you’re a flatterer,” he says, waving Kallus away. “But, I do suppose that I could get some information for you. There has to be _someone_ on Coruscant who knows a decent goldsmith and smelter. Why, I could connect you to my friend Michael Frescal, his work--” 

Kallus falls into the mindless persona of humming with interest and listening. As the warm, smooth voice of the mark falls over his ears, he finds himself lost in thought. _Why did they steal this information?_ He wonders, trying to piece together the puzzle he’d never had. _Why would he bring it here with him? Does he intend to sell it to another Imperial bidder?_ He works his mouth into a smile and a laugh to imitate the man floating across from him. _What are the odds that I can get it away from him?..._

He must have been quiet for too long, because Corbin clears his throat. 

“Lunch, dear boy!” the other man says suddenly. “What do you and your partner say? We can talk more about jewelry-smiths over sandwiches. I know the most _lovely_ little beach, all you need to do is take is your picnic basket, not even towels or swimsuits--” 

Kallus does not have to force his blush. He suspects that it’s the very same beach that he’d visited with Garazeb. 

“That sounds very nice,” he replies. “Thank you for the offer. I think we would love that.” The other man grins.

His eyes widen for a moment, and that is all the more warning that Kallus has before a brilliant-pink form barrels into the water, sending him rolling backwards with the force of the waves and sputtering out a mouthful of water. _“Sugarplum!”_ the man laughs delightedly. Kallus wipes beads of water from his eyes as the human gathers his date into his arms. Corbin pulling the giggling woman against his chest, and the pair of them kiss fondly as though nobody is watching. “Oh, you’re _very_ naughty. What have you gotten into, my dear?” 

Kallus cringes. Just because he’s finally cleared things up with Zeb doesn’t mean that Kallus is _comfortable_ with _all_ public displays affection. Smiling awkwardly, he treads several paces back. And runs _smack_ into Garazeb Orrelios’ awaiting chest. 

“Can I call ya that one, too?” the Lasat asks. Chuckling, he wraps his wet arms around a protesting Kallus. “Darlin’. Sugarplum. _Angel.”_

He squirms and blushes furiously as the man hugs him close from behind. Eventually, he gives up with his feeble protests, and just lets the Lasat embrace him and dance through the water. Zeb draws them through the clear pool until Kallus sighs with relief, leaning back so that his feet float to the surface and that his head presses against Zeb’s dripping chest.

“Hey,” he says, gazing up. “You have fun with your new friend?” 

Garazeb grins. Water trickles from his purple beard and speckles the top of Kallus’ forehead. “Mmm, yeah, actually!” he replies, quite cheerful. “We’ve been invited to go sky-surfin’ this afternoon! So, of course, we accepted.” 

Kallus groans. He squeezes his eyes shut, thinking of precarious heights. “Of _course.”_

The Lasat laughs. The vibrations of his rippling belly move through the water, tickling against Kallus’ ears and neck where he rests on the surface. “An I _think,”_ Zeb murmurs, lowering his voice, “that I have an idea about where that data went.” 

He opens his eyes. Giving Zeb a meaningful look, Kallus nods seriously. “Yes, same. We have much to talk about when we get back.” 

Zeb raises a brow. “When? No... _IF._ IF we get back. _”_ Kallus sighs with annoyance. Predictably, the gentle caress of Zeb’s hands turns into a tussle--and, just as suddenly as they’d been romancing, Kallus finds himself being pulled into a play-fight with the other man. He’s not sure if it’s something that Lasat kits ( _or maybe, mates)_ do, but he’s been pushing and pulling and wrestling Kallus a _lot_ more than usual. “You! Noodle-man! _Face me!”_

Kallus frowns. He fights back against Zeb in the water, struggling to move him back with the force of his hands. “You _know_ I didn’t design that helmet, Zeb” he protests. It’s a bit of a sore spot, all that teasing about his former ISB uniform. 

Zeb only laughs. “Is that all ya got?!” 

Forgetting all about the mark, their mission, and why they are here, Kallus grins and leans into the fight. He launches himself playfully at Zeb, spraying the other man with water before their bodies collide. As he wraps his legs around the other man’s waist, attempting to drag him beneath the water with his own weight, he can feel the Lasat’s abdominals rippling with laughter. Smiling and squinting in the sun, Kallus grabs for a fistful of fur, and ends up only twined with Garazeb’s hand. 

“C’mere,” the Lasat says roughly. Breathless with laughter, he pulls Kallus into a kiss.

“N-no more funny business!” Kallus says into the other man’s lips. Zeb’s arms surround him and hold him, and they are suspended in the warm water, beneath the dazzling sun. It feels so _good_ to be held. It feels so _gentle_ on his weak leg. It feels so... _right_ for all of these things to be in place. And it...it’s not just an act. It’s really...real… “We’ve got a mission to finish. We can’t get distracted.” 

As curved, clawed fingers hook over the band of his shorts, Kallus gasps. 

“Of _course_ ,” Zeb purrs. “We wouldn’t want _that,_ would we?..."

* * *

_Dear ASHLA. Why did I ever let Zeb talk me into this?!_

Alexsandr Kallus clings to the harness strapped over his chest. His fingers, white-tipped and gripping on for dear life, bite into the rugged fabric where the parasailing ropes loop and tug over his bare chest. His quivering toes cling to the rubber grip-strip at the back of the boat, and he sways with each swell of the towering waves as their boat plunges forward into the windy spray.

 _I’m going to die,_ he thinks grimly. _I’m literally going to die, right here in this moment._

The ship’s assistant seems to read the look on his face. He pats Kallus’ shoulder comfortingly. “Just remember your hand-signals, big guy!” he bellows over the sound of the wind and waves. “One arm bent over your head for a quick landing! Two thumbs up if you wanna go faster!” 

Kallus groans. He is _certain_ that he will not. “Right,” he replies, not feeling alright at all. 

From behind the assistant, Zeb gives him a cheerful wave. The Lasat is wearing an open and flowing tropical shirt, and if he didn’t look so dashing just there _\--_ all windswept-stripes and sun-soaked muscles against the sea--Kallus would say something rude back in his direction. 

_Your idea,_ Zeb mouths, as though reading his mind. _Your idea to do this._

His eyes glitter with wicked humor as he watches Kallus shifting within his harness. Kallus grits his teeth--it’s only _normal_ that one would feel apprehension about leaping over the swirling of white-capped ocean waves and into the _open sky!--_ and it was _Zeb_ who’d set this up with Tserena. He’d only _agreed_ to participate in the asinine thing; he hadn’t realized that he’d somehow volunteered himself to be the _first_ idiot tossed out over the sea. Without even knowing that the blasted thing _worked._

“Alright, bud!” the assistant shouts. “You’re clear to go! Hold on tight!” 

Kallus gulps, and stumbles backwards. Instantly, the parachute strapped to his back rips open and catches the greedy fingers of wind. It unfolds into great, golden wings on either side of him, unfolding into a soft-nosed point that crests just above his head. Surprised by the loveliness of the sunshine-golden colors, Kallus forgets for a moment to watch his feet as his toes leave the last of the grip-strip. Thus, his last moments upon the boat are an awkward tumble into the air. 

With a shriek, he’s ripped away into the sky. Kallus finds Zeb’s eyes, and gives him the finger.

Fortunately _(for Zeb, once he gets back to him),_ he settles into the wind-sailing comfortably. It’s a _beautiful_ , sunny day--even if a bit choppy--and Kallus soon finds that he likes the experience, and even begins to relax. After realizing that the strong wings will hold him, and that the rope tying him to the boat is secure, Kallus explores reaching out his hands into the warm, open air and soaking in the colorful light. 

He breathes in deeply, smelling the sea and tasting freedom. 

_“This is great, actually!”_ he calls down to Zeb. Even with a hand cupped around his mouth, the Lasat’s keen ears cannot hear him. Garazeb, however, does notice that he’s looking his way, and he gives Kallus a cheery thumbs up. Before Kallus can think about it, he’s giving a thumbs up in return--which makes the boat blast into a _higher_ gear of speed, surging them forward through the air. _“You did that on purpose!”_ He bellows. 

Reading his lips, Zeb laughs and waves. 

Kallus looks at his feet where they dangle above the brilliant ocean. He considers their options. In the brief minutes before going out to the nude beach _(where, yes, a lot of sand had ended up in unwanted crevices),_ they’d quickly discussed what they’d learned of the mark. Kallus had told Zeb of his suspicions that the stolen data was stored in Corbin’s necklace; Zeb had confirmed it, or as much as one could by Tserena’s drunken information. Between the two of them, they’d decided to obtain the necklace _somehow_ this afternoon, and would not be leaving this boat until they’d settled the matter. 

So perhaps it is both a curse and a blessing that the mark beats them to the punch. 

It’s been about half an hour of lazily coasting above the sea when Kallus sees a tussle starting. Squinting his eyes, he sees that the occupants are rising up from their chairs. Sun glints off the necklace on Corbin’s neck, and glimmers of the black of Garazeb’s claws. 

_What’s going on?_ He wonders, watching the tenseness of the Lasat’s shoulders. _Did he say something that tipped the mark off? Or, maybe, he’s trying to--_

All other thoughts stop as Corbin draws a blaster and presses it against Zeb’s head.

The sun is brilliantly hot, but Kallus feels his body run cold. _Zeb! Karabast!! Shit!!!_ He blinks, biting down on his tongue, willing himself not to shout and alert the others of his (seemingly, forgotten) presence. _Zeb! Oh, FORCE, what am I supposed to DO?_ Alexsandr Kallus curses himself. If he’d not been so head-over-heels in love--if he’d not been so addled by sunshine and sex and good food and wine--perhaps he would have seen such a thing coming. 

But, as it is, they are trapped. Garazeb has been caught by surprise; and Kallus is unable to reach him. 

_Hang on, Zeb._ Kallus thinks. Slowly, doing his best not to draw attention, he begins to haul the connecting rope back towards him. It’s a dangerous thing, to do with wind-surfing; as he’d been instructed, one is _never_ supposed to pull on the line, less they disrupt their flight pattern or jostle the boat. However, with few options left-- _and my partner in danger--_ Kallus has little choice. 

Sweat shimmers and drips down his arms as he hauls himself, inch by inch, towards the engine. 

“--foolish to use any part of your real name,” Corbin is shouting at Zeb. His hip-blaster is pressed up against the flat of Zeb’s chin, and it parts his beard in an unnatural way. “You think that the _only_ living Lasat would go unnoticed? You think that some high-level as _Agent 21_ could show up here off-record?” 

Kallus winces. _Karabast._ Of _course_ they’d been foolish. No matter _what_ Draven had said, they should have planned better. They ought have-

“--And it’s all for nothing,” the human Imperial adds. “I’m selling this off to a bounty hunter. I wasn’t even _going_ to turn it into the Empire. But now that I have _you two--_ ” he smiles, and the golden fang glitters within his mouth, “I might as well cash in my reward. The Empire will pay a handsome penny for a defector like Agent Kallus.” 

_Should have known better,_ Kallus thinks with a cold smirk. _He ought to have just threatened Zeb, not his mate._

The reaction from the Lasat is instantaneous: Zeb’s chest swells and _snarls_ , and the sound carries even over the boat. There is a ringing sound of blaster fire, and Kallus shouts--but he sees that the man’s been disarmed, and that Zeb has easily knocked him aside. At this point, Corbin is scrambling for his weapon, and Tserena is shooting with her own blaster; and they must have paid the boat a handsome heap of credits, because they continue on as though nothing is happening. 

“Zeb!” Kallus screams, waving one of his burning arms. “ZEB! _OVER HERE!”_

His partner looks up at him. In the moment that Kallus catches the emerald glimmer of Zeb’s eyes, his heart thunders to life within his chest. _Everything is going to be alright,_ he thinks with a bone-deep wave relief. _We’re going to get out of this._

Ears folded back, Zeb drops to all fours. 

He dodges the final round of Tserena’s blaster, and then, _leaping_ , he is out from the back of the boat--over the water, into the air--and is landing, feet reaching and grasping, around the dark rope that connects Kallus and his wings to the boat. 

That kind of maneuver is _not_ regulation. 

“Cut it!” Kallus bellows, unclenching the rope. “Zeb, cut the cord!” 

His partner doesn’t need any further directions. With a swipe of his massive paw, he severs the cord binding them to the boat. Kallus wonders if they’ve made the wrong decision as he feels a horrible, jolting _crunch_ in his chest as he’s jolted back violently against the wind--and then, they are flying free, rising into the sky and leaving the danger trailing behind them. 

Kallus sighs, feeling tears of relief at the corners of his eyes. Below him, Zeb laughs. 

“Now _that_ was a dramatic escape!” He exclaims, grinning up at Kallus. His four-fingered paws are wrapped tightly around the rugged, dark rope trailing from his chest, and the look on his face is a stupid, happy grin. _Karabast. I love him._ “Yer my hero, Kal!” 

He grins and shakes his head. 

“I don’t think that I can handle the addition of _Hero_ to the list,” he chuckles. “Along with names like _Al._ And _Sugarplum._ And _Darling.”_

Zeb pulls himself up by his arms--an impressive sight to behold--until he can reach the cage of bars hung around Kallus’ chest, dangle by holding onto the harness that straps him into the wings He bats a look at him up through his eyelashes. 

“And what about _mine?”_ Zeb asks. Kallus blushes. He smiles, all toothiness and affection. “What about partner? Or boyfriend? Or _husband_?” 

His heart lurches inside of his chest. Kallus stares back at Zeb, his mouth slipping open. Yes, he’d thought about it _(of course he’d thought about it! He’d dreamed about it for years!),_ but they’d only just begun their ‘official’ relationship. And it had all come about under-covers, and hadn’t even been practiced in ‘real life’ back on the base. But now, Zeb is going and talking about... _marriage?!_ Throwing Kallus’ wildest and most welcome of dreams out there, as though it might actually be an _option?_

Zeb gazes at him expectantly. The wind whips around his face, ruffling his fur in the breeze. “Is that a _‘No’_?” he asks Kallus softly. 

Kallus blushes at bites at his lip. He reaches for the Lasat, and he other man scoots even closer. Close as they can get--suspended above the waves, feet dangling over the ocean, drawing ever-closer towards the sandy shoreline _(most likely to crash),_ above this Imperial resort, after a failed mission, on an island in the middle of nowhere. 

He knots their trembling hands together. 

“ _Yes,”_ Kallus says, just loudly enough to be heard over the wind and the waves. “Yes, of course. If that was an actual, real-life proposal…” he shakes his head. “If this really all meant something to you, and this thing is honestly happening between us…” he gazes to look into the other man’s eyes. He feels near crying. “ _Yes._ Of course, I want to be yours. Garazeb Orrelios.” 

The other man beams. It makes Kallus’ heart skitter within his chest. 

“Oh, good!” Zeb replies cheerfully. “I was so hopin’ that you’d say that! Ya see, I already got these funky rings…” 

Zeb shifts his fingers so that their matching set of ‘disguise’, glowing meteorites catch the rays of the sun. Even if they were not illuminated with gentle light and heat from inside, Kallus could feel the love that seems to radiate out of their core. 

“...would be a shame to try and return ‘em.” 

Kallus tries to kiss him. Strapped into his harness, held in place by the wings, he cannot reach for the other man’s searching lips; so he laughs, and allows the Lasat to move all the way, until Zeb is straining across the distance between them and pressing their mouths together. 

_Garazeb. My love. My partner._

If he were not already dangling hundreds of feet above the glittering waves, suspended in the warm air of the summer sunshine, Kallus could swear that he was flying. 

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As briefly observed back on base.

* * *

**TEN**

**[EPILOGUE]**

* * *

When the  _ Cocktail Hour _ finally arrives, Generals Syndulla and Draven are waiting upon the landing pad.

The sun is shining brightly upon Yavin 4. It bounces off the walls and peaks of the temples, reflecting the light back up towards the sun. In the distance, the plant of Yavin itself can be seen: glimmering in the space between itself and the moon, shining with life and variety. Here on the moon, an abundance of life grows: the variety of green and leafy palm trees; the foliage that sways in the warm breeze; the clusters of glowing, purple-blue flowers that give of a very strong scent. 

As the ship touches down, its gushing steam and roaring engines cause the plant life to sway. 

“It’s a shame that they were unable to recover the data,” Davits Draven says tightly. He stands rigidly at the side of the Twi’lek woman, all shades of grey and tightness of lips. “We spoiled a great deal of time and credits on this mission, and only for it produce a thin lead.” 

Hera Syndulla crosses her arms over her chest. She sighs patiently. 

“But we have a  _ lead,”  _ she says with warm resolve. “Whatever happened to Captains Zeb and Kallus, we have to respect that, and their honest efforts. It’s not exactly what we wanted, but it’s still enough. We’ll be able to recover that data another day.  _ And _ \--” she waves at the two men walking down the ramp, “--we didn’t lose any soldiers. That’s  _ more  _ than a triumph.” 

“Hmm,” Draven replies. He does not want to argue with Syndulla. Only  _ fools _ would. 

The captains in question are looking much more sun-soaked and cheerful for the wear. _Hadn’t they been in a crash? Hadn’t they barely made it out of there alive--and all with the pursuit of imperial soldiers?_ But Captain Kallus’ fair skin seems to have exploded with freckles, and his golden hair has a windswept, sandy look. Beyond the slight limp, Captain Orrelios doesn’t seem any the worse for wear; he actually looks _better_ than Draven can ever remember, and there is a distinct spring to his step. 

If he didn’t _know_ any better…

“Hera!” Garazeb crows. The Lasat draws closer, enough for them to smell the sour tang of salt-water and fur. “I missed ya!” He sweeps the short Twi’lek woman into his arms--an action that would land anyone other than one of her  _ Spectres  _ into a cell. “Yer lookin’ good!” 

Hera raises her eyebrows and chuckles. Zeb sets her down, and she brushes her coveralls. “As do  _ you _ , Spectre Four,” she smiles back at him. “I see that you and Kal finally worked things out. Well done, you two!” 

From beside him, Captain Kallus looks shocked. 

Draven is about to ask what  _ precisely  _ General Syndulla means--being that they’d butchered the mission, they’d just confirmed as much between them--but then, he spies the dark blush spreading across the human’s pale skin. 

_ Oh. OH.  _

“Don’t tell me you set us up?” Kallus chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his arm. The man is still blushing, and dosen’t look to stop anytime soon. “I know that you’re a pilot to be reckoned with, but your  _ tactical _ skills? I mistakenly thought you’d left that in the field…”

General Syndulla smiles fondly. She punches Zeb’s arm, making the Lasat stagger and laugh.  “Let’s just say that I put in a good word for you,” she says, grinning at Kallus. “I  _ could  _ have gone on the mission Kallus. But when I had the opportunity to suggest who would be your partner…” she looks over at an irate draven and flashes a cheeky smile. “...I couldn’t resist.” 

Kallus mumbles something, and Garazeb laughs. He throws an arm about the human man, pulling him close.

“Thanks, mom,” Zeb grins. “I owe ya one!” He jostles Kallus where the human rests against his side, pulling a resistant, wary smile from his lips. “Besides, we had a  _ jolly  _ good time. You shoulda seen the kind of food that they served there! The  _ fish.  _ And the  _ rolls--”  _

General Draven snarls and stomps away. 

It appears that his attempts to demote Kallus by putting his vulnerabilities ( _ weaknesses)  _ for the Lasat on display would have to wait for another occasion. Perhaps, forever, at this rate.  _ If he’s already somehow won over General Syndulla,  _ he thinks, fuming,  _ then there’s little hope left for me. I'll have to fold.  _ Cheerful discussion and happy laughter follows him as he strides away. It makes him flare his nostrils, rise a hand to bridge at the pinch of his nose. A headache is beginning to bloom there. 

_ I need a drink.  _

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you think??? I sure hope you liked it! ((PS No shade to Draven lovers - I just needed to stick it to him after the first chapter, and how cold he was with Kallus.)) Did you get enough of this story? Still hoping to fill in a few gaps? Well, there's a Part 2 in the works, and it's all from Zebby's perspective. So just a holler if you'd actually want something like that, and I'll keep chopping away at it. This story ended up much longer than I expected - but it was fun! Thanks for riding along <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. <3


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